


The Lonely Sea

by Tarlan



Category: Stargate Atlantis, Waterworld (1995)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Angst, Community: anotheratlantis, Community: fanfic100, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-26
Updated: 2011-07-26
Packaged: 2017-10-21 19:09:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/228636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Global warming has melted the polar caps. Rodney McKay has a map leading to the only remaining dry land, and John has a boat. Waterworld AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lonely Sea

**Author's Note:**

> This was written to satisy TWO challenges!  
> 1\. LJ _anotheratlantis_ challenge 41. (Waterworld)  
>  2\. LJ _Fanfic100_ challenge 051. Water.
> 
> Many thanks to **AQUALEGIA** for listening to all my (insane) ideas and throwing out advice, ideas and 'kicks up the ass' to help me along :-)

  


_This beautiful cover created by Aretria_

****

The sea stretched towards the horizon in every direction, seemingly no different today than on most other days. The waves were calm as always, only giving rise to higher swells when the moon was in the right position to influence the world beneath it. Most days were like this one, though, with gentle waves barely rippling the surface, only broken by the prow of John's boat cutting through the water, forming a wake behind him. Above his head, the sky was a cloudless, azure blue and John could only image what the Earth must look like from space these days. Gone was all the pollution and all the familiar landmarks, lost beneath the melting polar caps. It had all happened so fast, with those few who had survived likening it to some disaster movie that he'd never found the time to see before the world sank, taking most of Earth's civilizations with it.

Although there were times when he thought otherwise, he had been one of the lucky ones. Disobeying a direct order had earned him more than just a black mark in his file, it had earned him a short spell in Leavenworth followed by a dishonorable discharge for other actions. Often, he wondered if the end result might have been different if he had brought back any of that downed helicopter crew alive. Instead, he lost his co-pilot as well as an expensive piece of Air force machinery when his own helicopter was shot out of the sky too. During those nights in Leavenworth, he had wished he had lost himself too.

They took away his flying license, and though he could have found a way around that by joining some mercenary army or flying some beat up crop duster in some third world country, he decided to pool all his savings plus the substantial inheritance from his father into this boat. When the disaster struck, he was hundreds of miles out to sea in a boat full of supplies, loaded with everything he needed to avoid having to make landfall too often. The storm had raged for three days with high seas and winds that threatened to overturn his boat on more than one occasion but, eventually, the seas had calmed and the clouds had dissipated. He'd barely seen a cloud since because they tended to form over land. Except, he had sailed for nearly three years now and had never seen any land. It was all gone.

Occasionally, he came across other drifters, mostly people who, like him, had been out on the water when it happened; fishing boats, ferries, ocean liners. Yeah, he'd seen one of the big cruise ships, the QE2, and nearly capsized in her wake while those on-board pointed in horror. He'd pulled up to her for a time, walking decks that should have been brimming with far more people, but nearly three years with depleting supplies and disease had seen off the weak and infirm. They were nice enough and they even had a little to trade now they had figured out a way to grow some of what they needed on the vast decks, using what little soil they had from the potted plants kept on board originally for their aesthetic value.

He squinted and pulled on his aviator glasses, staring into the distance at the small anomaly that seemed to be growing fast. John sighed, realizing it was one of those man made atolls, built out of the hulls of boats that had ridden out the terrible storm. He did not come across them often and knew to be wary because they tended to want more than he was prepared to trade--like his boat. However, he was running short on a few supplies and needed resin to fix the micro fractures in the hull, so it was worth the gamble. He slipped below and loaded both his 9mm and the hand held harpoon gun before making certain he had slipped a couple of knives into his belt and ankle sheath.

The atoll grew larger under it was almost as high as his mast, obviously built like a fortress to protect the inhabitants from the modern-day pirates that roamed the seas these days. He called out to the gatekeeper as soon as he was close enough.

"I'm here to trade...for resin."

"What have you got to trade?"

John had already figured out that these people were probably low in plants so he lifted two of the small potted cuttings he had been nurturing on-board since his encounter with the QE2. The gatekeeper would never win a poker match judging by the excited look on his face but John didn't care because the man was shouting orders and the metal gates were swinging open to let him in. He moved into the fairly large marina and brought his boat to the closest dock, tying her off. He locked down the remaining hatches, aware that they would not keep out a dedicated thief but it was a chance he would have to take. As he stepped off his boat, he caught movement above and eyed the silver-haired, older man standing on the walkway above the dock, looking down on him.

"I keep the peace here. Just bear that in mind before you start causing any trouble."

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind." John fought the urge to salute the man, recognizing a military bearing despite the easy slouch. Deciding to avoid any confrontation, he headed towards the pitiful excuse for a store and placed the two fragile cuttings on the counter. "How much resin you offering for these?"

The man licked his lips, greedy eyes fixed on the dark green leaves. "Tomatoes." He gave a soft laugh. "Haven't seen a tomato plant since..." his words trailed off because none of them had seen much in the way of plant life for nigh-on three years. He pulled out two small tins of resin. "One for one."

"Three for two," John countered and the man checked over his shoulder, gaining a nod from the store owner.

"Got yourself a deal." The man pulled a third tin from the shelf below and placed it on the counter, drawing the tomato plants towards him as John placed the tins into a small backpack. There wasn't much else on the shelves, and certainly nothing he needed or wanted so he slung the backpack over one shoulder.

"Nice doing business with you."

He had gone barely ten steps when a roar of anger went up close by, body tensing until he realized he was not the target of the angry mob. John stepped back as a pale skinned, broad shouldered man with short, light brown hair was manhandled past him, gaining a fleeting glimpse of deep blue eyes widened in fear and a mouth down-turned in horror. The man was babbling almost incoherently, voice rising an octave as he begged them to let him go. Intrigued, John followed the gathering mob as they headed towards the dock where the usual sludge pit was set up to recycle any organic waste. His hands tightened into fists as the mob threw a rope over a metal brace, quickly forming a hangman's noose that was forced over the man's head and slowly tightened against his throat, confused by the talk of mutation rumbling through the crowd.

"Please!" he choked out. "I didn't do anything!"

From his position higher than most of the crowd, John frowned as the clothes were cut from the man's body and cast aside, revealing an even paler torso with a smattering of chest hair in an inverted triangle. Tiny pink nipples stood out stiffly from the fear coursing through the man, his chest heaving with harsh breaths as if he had just run a marathon. Another man grabbed his head and shoved it down, drawing back the shell of the ear to reveal...

John straightened in shock. Evolution simply didn't work that fast and certainly not on a full grown man only three years after the ice caps had flooded the world. If those were working gills then the man had been genetically altered, giving weird credence to a rumor John had heard from one of the drifters that merpeople were to blame for the catastrophe. It had seemed so far-fetched before, making John wonder if the drifter had been out too long and drinking salt water. Now, he was not so sure.

One of the men began to haul on the rope to the rabid cries of, "hang him!".

"No! Ple..." The begging cut off as the noose tightened, the man's fingers scrabbling at the noose, and John felt his resolve to remain out of it dissolve. He couldn't just stand by and watch them hang a man for no reason other than being different. He took a breath but, before he could step forward, the silver-haired lawkeeper shouldered his way through the crowd.

"What's going on?"

The rope slackened enough for the frightened prisoner to gain purchase and loosen the noose a fraction, his flushed face slowly paling as the blood and air flowed again. The prisoner's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, soft lips forming an almost perfect 'O'.

The lawkeeper's brown eyes grazed the crowd. "There won't be any hanging."

"He's a fish, Jack!"

"Yeah! He's one of them merpeople that destroyed the world!"

"He's still a man, and unless you can prove otherwise or can name a real crime committed, then he's not done anything wrong."

"Just existing is all wrong!" A man barged past John, face suffused with anger. "I lost my wife, my kids... Hell, I lost my whole town, and you can't tell me his kind had nothing to do with it."

Three more men approached and John watched them carefully, seeing the reverence they were given. The one in the center raised a hand and the crowd fell silent.

"What is his crime?"

"He's a fish!" Someone yelled.

The one they called Jack sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over a tired, weather-worn face. "That don't make him a criminal."

"Please! I just came to find a boat."

"Steal a boat, more like!" Another man yelled.

"No! I can pay..." His face fell. "I-I could pay but they took..."

"Took what?"

"I had soil." He looked towards the two men who had instigated the hanging. Both John and this Jack eyed them with suspicion, especially once the container packed with rich soil was brought forward for inspection.

"Where'd he get the soil?"

"The Sundown atoll was attacked last week--everyone is gone. Heard they had soil."

"See! He's a thief and a murderer! He'll bring the NID down on us too!"

Jack addressed the crowd and elders. "Look. It's getting late. Let's just stick him in the cage, and we'll deal with this in the morning when everyone's got a clear head."

A murmur of reluctant approval rumbled through the crowd, confirmed when the head man nodded his assent. John watched as Jack slackened the noose and grabbed the man by the arm, intrigued when Jack faltered, staring down at the strange tattoo-like marking on the man's upper arm. Recognition seemed to flicker in the brown eyes, along with surprise as his head whipped up to stare back at the frightened man's face. Whatever the marking revealed, this Jack had an idea of what it meant. The lawkeeper continued on and pushed the man into the narrow cage, locking it securely. Slowly, the crowd dispersed as the sun reached the horizon and seemed to sink beneath the waves. The air temperature dropped quickly and John saw the frightened merman, for want of a better description, start to shiver until Jack threw the man's torn t-shirt and what looked like a ragged blanket in his direction. Instead of thanks, the man's chin tilted up in defiance, and John could not help sharing a wry grin of amusement with Jack as the man wrapped the blanket around his broad shoulders.

****

Jack watched as the drifter walked away. The slouch and easy air could not disguise the fact that the guy was ex-military and Jack's first thought was maybe the man was NID. Certainly, he'd had a few of Maybourne's people watching his every move over the past few years as if they thought he might have a way off the planet due to his previous position in the SGC. Problem was, he had burned most of his bridges when he forced the President to accept his early retirement, and not even the sweetener of promotion to 'General' had changed his mind. His knee was shot to hell from too many injuries, and his brain still felt fuzzy around the edges after that last run in with an Ancient database download that left him in cryofreeze in Antarctica for several months.

Instead, he had bought that fishing boat he'd been promising himself for years and set out across his home planet. Unlike most people, he had learned of the Ori through contacts seeking to draw him back into the SGC program and had one final warning only hours before the Ori attacked the Earth with whatever super-weapon they had devised. By the end of that storm, there was no land to be seen, and he had yet to meet anyone who had found any dry land in their travels despite the occasional appearance of rich soil. Maybourne had approached him just the one time, offering him a position in his ' _new government of Earth_ ', which basically consisted of nothing more than cutthroats, pirates and former NID agents. Jack had turned him down on principle and Maybourne had left him alone, simply watching him from afar but, after almost three years, no one had come. Either they were all dead or the Ori had locked down the planet so tight that no one could get through. At least, that was what he had thought until seeing McKay.

He had not recognized him at first but it had been a number of years since he last saw the arrogant scientist that had driven Sam to distraction with his crush, and Jack never expected to see him here on Earth. McKay had taken the chief scientist position on a potentially one way ticket to the Pegasus galaxy, seeking the lost city of Atlantis, and Jack only knew this because Daniel had gone with them. Daniel. The name reverberated around his head, remindign him of all he had lost. His fault really. He'd pushed everyone away at the end, wanting time alone, and in a fit of pique, Daniel had walked away too but not before showing Jack the intricate tattoo that he and several others on the expedition had designed as a badge of courage and honor. Only someone familiar with the constellation symbols from a Stargate would recognize the patterns woven into the design, but the true surprise was seeing it on McKay's arm. McKay had never stuck him as the tattoo type but the design was unmistakable. The eight symbols represented those found on the Stargate with Earth as the point of origin.

The next question was how did McKay get here? And why had he been altered for gills?

Okay, so maybe the aquaman stuff wasn't so far fetched after all that Jack had seen and done, especially as the Stargate had to be hundreds of feet underwater along with the rest of the planet. It was the fact that he was on his own that was worrying, especially as McKay had the air of someone who had been surviving more or less alone for weeks if not months. Jack crouched down beside the cage and stared at the man, noting the fairly recent scar that ran just beneath the hair line. He kept his voice low.

"McKay?" Blue eyes looked up at him questioningly but without recognition. "Rodney McKay?"

"Rodney," he half-whispered back, shifting slightly as his eyes widened. "I know... Is that my name? Do you know me?" He leaned in further and Jack opened his mouth to say something scathing about having sent him to Siberia after calling Sam a dumb blond, but the words stuck in his throat when McKay added, "I don't think I belong here but... but I can't remember."

Jack sank back, eyes automatically darting back to the head injury that McKay was absently rubbing now. Amnesia. "Great," he murmured but then he pulled himself together. Maybe the loss of memory was temporary and could be jogged by someone reminding him of his missing past but, whatever the case, the very fact that McKay was here rather than a whole galaxy away was the best news he'd had since the destruction of the world.

In that last communication, Landry had told him the Ori had locked down the Stargate to prevent it dialing out anywhere in this galaxy, trapping everyone on Earth. Not that they had any place to go as the alpha and beta sites had already been destroyed by then. But what about Atlantis? If there was no place left to go in the Milky Way, then what about Pegasus? Admittedly, McKay's presence did not mean he had the means of returning direct to Atlantis but getting off the Earth would be a start at least. No matter how much Sam denigrated McKay for his pettiness and arrogance, she'd always admitted to the man's sheer brilliance. If anyone other than Sam could figure a way to release the Stargate and create a wormhole to another world then it would be McKay.

Jack glanced aside. The sun had set now and, under cover of darkness, he might be able to spirit the man away. Certainly he'd never been complacent about living here in the atoll, ensuring his boat was ready to sail at a moment's notice. He had at least a few hours to grab any additional supplies that might come in handy, and perhaps he could trade with the drifter for some of those tomato plants. The man had offered up those two cuttings way too fast for them to be the sole ones on-board his boat.

"Just hang in there. I'll be back later." Jack patted McKay awkwardly and stepped away. He had plenty to do if he wanted to get away at the mid-watch when everything was quieter in the atoll. As he'd made a point of taking the occasional night trip, returning just before dawn, ostensibly in search of better fishing, no one would raise any alarm if he should sail out tonight. He just hoped none of them noticed the prisoner was missing until after he'd made some headway as his was not the fastest boat in the atoll.

****

Rodney watched the silver-haired man carefully as the man walked away, desperately trying to recall why he looked so familiar. He could feel the answer flitting at the edge of his mind but it trickled through his mental fingers whenever he tried to grasp at it. Blue. Everything was blue, rippling like water in a well, a ring. The pain flared in his head and he forced the images aside before the migraine built up once more.

"Hey." Rodney snapped up his head and stared at a handsome man with dark, messy hair who had crouched down beside the cage. The man's lips quirked into a smile that tried to be friendly but held more curiosity than camaraderie. "So... Where'd you get the soil?"

"I didn't steal it, if that's what you're asking." Rodney bristled with anger, wishing he'd never tried to buy his way with soil, but it was the new currency on this water-filled world, worth more than its weight in gold and diamonds.

"Never said you did," the man replied with a gentle rebuke. He licked lips that had been chapped by the sun, wind and waves and Rodney took in the small lines radiating out from the edges of his eyes from squinting into too many cloudless skies on the wide ocean. "Just wanted to know how you came by it. If you'd seen dry land."

Rodney gave a bitter half-laugh. "No such thing as dry land." Not on this world, he added mentally, frowning because he knew that was the truth even though he couldn't recall how he knew it, just like he also knew there were other worlds out there that did have solid land to walk upon. He looked up and frowned again as the first stars came out, so familiar, forming patterns he'd learned a lifetime ago, and yet not the ones he expected to see in the night sky. Where was the Serpent's tail or the Taco Bell? The constellations were right and yet all wrong, like he was looking at the stars from the wrong part of space and time. He hissed as his head throbbed again.

"You okay?"

"Head hurts."

The man squinted. "Looks like you took a blow to the head not so long ago."

Rodney brushed his fingers over the jagged scar. It didn't hurt anymore but he remembered days of nausea, floating in that small rubber life raft, with the built-in canopy keeping the worst of the sun off his face. How did he get there? He must have floated for days before his eyes could see straight and his stomach could hold down even a little of the rations he'd found in the life raft, and then for another week before he spotted a small flotilla of boats moored together. That's where he'd learned the worth of soil, seeing the greed in men's eyes when just a handful of dirt was offered up for trade by a passing drifter.

Rodney had traded in the life raft for passage on that larger, more stable boat, adding his services as an engineer to pay for food and precious drinking water. It had worked out reasonably well for a while; until they hit something lurking just beneath the surface and Rodney stayed under water just that little bit too long while repairing the damage. He'd barely gotten away, forced to dive back under the water and swim for his life, going deeper than his pursuer and waiting until the man had given him up for fish bait and raised the sail. He left the area, leaving Rodney alone in an endless sea with nothing but the ragged clothes on his sodden back.

The following weeks were ones he never hoped to repeat, surviving on the small fish he caught by convincing himself it was merely sushi, and fleeing all the predators attracted by the tiny amount of blood in the water from each kill. If he never saw another shark or had to eat another raw fish then he'd die a happy man. Eventually, though, he had seen a small island of boats in the distance, stealthily making his way onto it and hiding out in the hope that the small community might not notice his presence as he doubted he could explain his arrival without a boat and still be alive the following morning. His luck held and, a day later, another drifter sailed in. All Rodney had to do was pretend he had come as part of its crew and convince the drifter to take him along when the boat sailed. A handful of soil scooped up from the bottom of the sea into a rusty old container, also found far below, had solved that dilemma though the pressure of diving so deep had made his head hurt for days following. At least he'd had time to come up slowly, not hampered by any concern over running out of oxygen, and decompressing on route, but now he knew there was a limit to what depth he could manage before the pressure of the water became too much for him to bear.

"So, where'd you get the soil?"

Rodney closed his mouth, aware that he could hardly admit to the truth until he realized that it simply didn't matter anymore. This man knew what he was, knew that he had working gills that somehow filtered the oxygen out of the water and sent it to his lungs.

"I dived for it. Some of the... Some of it's not so deep."

The dark-haired man nodded, accepting the explanation. Rodney saw the man's eyes drift over the cage and the lock before giving a half-shrug and a pained expression.

"Is it true about the...?" The drifter indicated towards his own slightly pointed ears that made him look like an extra from _Lord of the Rings_ but he turned swiftly, tensing when the lawkeeper stepped up behind him.

"What'cha doing?"

"Just having a conversation with our... fish friend." The man smiled at Rodney without any visible malice.

"Well, maybe you should--"

"PIRATES!"

The cry sounded from one of the guarded walls, the strident ringing of metal upon metal following as the guard sent out the warning to everyone. People began to race from their hovels, some holding weapons but most defenseless. Shrieks and cries filled the night air, leaving Rodney trembling in fear. He saw the one called Jack digging into his pocket and producing a key. Moments later, the cage door was open and Jack was hauling Rodney out, dragging him along the rickety walkway by his arm despite Rodney's protests, and then down the stairs towards the marina. Jack stopped suddenly, cursing out loud as the first volley of gunfire strafed the walls, punching holes through the thin metal and fiber glass. The other man almost ran into Rodney's back, adding his own expletive. Rodney turned in time to see the dark-haired stranger duck under the railing, preparing to dive into the water.

"Take him with you and I'll open the gates," Jack commanded but his eyes were almost begging, and Rodney felt a chill from knowing Jack wanted to save him even at the possible expense of his own life.

The dark-haired man snarled, lips twisted in annoyance before giving a sharp nod. Rodney felt the man grab his arm and, moments later, he was falling, arms flailing until he struck water. In the leap from the walkway, the other man lost his grip on Rodney but Rodney saw his head break water, hair plastered to his skull; he saw him start to swim towards one of the boats, and Rodney followed. Dragging himself out of the water, Rodney chafed at the orders to do this, do that, but realized the man needed help if they were to get the boat moving before the pirates reached them. Slowly, the boat eased from its mooring, turning smoothly towards the gate that was still locked down tight.

"Come on!" The man called under his breath, eyeing the gates.

An explosion sent a shock wave through the whole atoll and Rodney saw movement high above as the wall was breached almost opposite the gate. Dark figures were pouring through the hole, grabbing everyone they met and slaughtering those that resisted. In horror, he realized they were looking for someone, checking the arms of all male captives, and his eyes dropped to the tattoo adorning his own flesh. He had no idea what it meant, could not recall where it had come from or who had done it but the fear that these pirates were seeking him threatened to send him diving deep into the cold water. A single shove and Rodney found himself falling to the deck, half hidden between canvas-covered boxes and lumpy shapes.

"Get down and stay down!"

Rodney covered his ears as he heard gunfire above him, burying his head into the dark recesses.

"Open the goddamn gate!" The man yelled in frustration, followed by a triumphant, "Yes!"

Rodney grimaced as he felt the large boat scrape through the gate, and then they were free and heading into open water. He looked up at the small sails unfurling above him, horror filling him as he looked back and saw a pirate boat with far larger sails bearing down on them.

"They're gaining! Can't we go a little faster?"

"You could always swim!" The man snarled back as he raced from one side of the boat to the other.

"What?"

"If you want this boat to go faster then I can always dump your sorry ass and save me some weight!"

"Sharks!"

"What!?"

"Sharks in the water... close to the settlement. They're attracted by the waste and fishing."

A large white tip broke the surface, emphasizing the point; it had to be at least fifteen feet from tip to tail judging by the size of the dorsal, though a mere baby compared to some of the monsters Rodney had seen.

With the swifter boat gaining with every passing second, Rodney hunched down further and closed his eyes tight. If they were after him then perhaps they wouldn't kill him outright...unless they were looking for revenge, blaming him for the end of the world just because he had a set of gills.

Oh God! He panicked. Maybe they wanted to capture him so they could hang him up on a display hook and turn him into shark chum! He opened his eyes in shock as a shudder ran through the boat from prow to stern, fearing the worst, that the pirates had grappled the boat. Instead, a huge mast rose up on gears and a massive sail unfurled. The wind caught it instantly and the whole boat wrenched forward as it went from slow to high speed, carving through the waves. Rodney hung onto the webbing straps holding down the canvass covered crates for dear life as the boat sprung forward, eyes wide with shocked awe as they quickly outstripped their pursuers.

"WOW! Now that's impressive!" He chanced a glance towards the boat's captain, catching a smirk on the moonlit face but, otherwise, the man said nothing.

****

John's smirk faded as soon as he remembered that he'd been forced to take this man on-board and make a run for it. Fortunately, he'd stowed the resin first but he'd planned to trade for fresh food too; food that didn't include sun dried fish.

He stared across the boat towards the dark shape still huddled between the crates and fumed some more, refusing to be mesmerized by the way the silvery moonlight picked up the lighter colors in the man's brown hair and turned his pale skin to alabaster. That was another thing he'd planned to do that he'd missed out on now. It had been months since he'd gotten laid by anything other than his own hand. So long that even this freak of nature was starting to look good to him.

John grimaced at the uncharitable thought because, apart from the gills, which were not noticeable unless you knew exactly where to look, the man looked the same as anyone else. Two arms, two legs... perhaps he could check out the rest later just to be sure. He watched as the man crawled out of concealment, still staring into the wake of the boat as if expecting to see the other boat suddenly appear there, but John had made a few improvements over the past couple of years, added some extra features that were neatly hidden away until he needed to make use of them, though the mechanism wasn't running quite as smoothly as he'd like these past few weeks. The salt water caused damage over time but, unfortunately, he'd found very few places where he could stop and have the parts replaced or repaired even if he could find someone with the necessary skills.

John tilted his head to one side and half-smirked at the merman as he shifted this way and that, still holding the now sodden, ratty blanket and trying to get it wrapped around his larger frame more comfortably.

"You'd be warmer out of the night chill."

The man's head rose sharply, as if he'd forgotten that he wasn't alone on the boat. "No. I'll just..." He pointed to the deck, a flick of his eyes telling John that the man was judging the distance to the water should he need to make a break for it.

"I know what you are and I'm not planning on killing you in your sleep."

"Well, that's good to know but still... I'll stay here."

"Suit yourself but it's gonna get colder, and that damp blanket isn't gonna help you any."

John could see the glint reflecting back from the man's eyes but little else as he moved back into the deeper shadows. Still, if the man wanted to freeze out here then that was his problem. As long as he didn't expect John to look after his sorry ass if he went and got sick. John turned his attention back to the sea around them, altering course to throw off any pursuers. Eventually, the question burning in his gut came out.

"Why are they after you?" He saw the shadow move and wondered if the man was going to play dumb and pretend he never heard the question. "Well?"

"Why--Why do you think they were after me? They could have been after anyone... anything; food, women, boats. Anything."

"They were checking over any guys they caught, looking at their arms."

"Hmm!" The sound came out an octave too high for feigned indifference. "I never noticed."

John gave a hard smile knowing the slight tremor in the man's voice had nothing to do with the rapidly cooling night air and the stupid, damp blanket he'd wrapped around himself. With a soft sigh, John tied off the wheel to keep them on course and pressed on. "Maybe they were looking for a tattoo." The man fidgeted and John took several long steps towards him, walking stealthily. "A tattoo like yours, perhaps." The man shifted some more, obviously ill at ease when he noticed John's slow approach. "That guy, Jack, the lawkeeper. He recognized that tattoo, and he recognized you."

"I don't know what you mean." But it was obvious from the belligerent thrust of his chin that the man knew exactly what John meant. John decided to change tactics and catch the man off guard.

"What's your name?"

"What?"

"You do have a name?"

"Oh! Uhm. Rodney."

"Rodney." John let the name play over his lips as he crouched down near the man, licking his dry lips and tasting the salt on them. "So, Rodney. What's so special about the tattoo?"

"I..." Rodney gave a ragged sigh. "I don't know. I don't know anything. I don't remember... anything." He shook his head.

His blue eyes were dark pools in the moonlight but they were wide with fear and confusion and, for what it was worth, John believed him. He stood up and took a step back, staring into the darkness behind the boat. By morning they would have put even more distance between them and the atoll and, hopefully, would have lost the pirates for good. Though, if this man was that important to them, important enough to raid a well defended atoll, then they might not stop searching until they found him. Common sense told John he should dump his unwanted passenger at the earliest opportunity, but he'd never been one to take the easy road and, whether he liked it or not, he'd accepted responsibility for Rodney. Admittedly, he didn't have to follow anyone's orders, least of all those of an ex-military man turned lawkeeper. He'd fulfilled that order anyway. He'd taken the merman with him so now, all he had to do was drop him off at the next atoll, or pass him over to the next drifter he met on the open sea. The man was broad shouldered and healthy so he could probably work his passage. Hell, John might even get a trade for him.

He pushed down that sickening thought as it came far too close to peddling in human flesh, and John was no slaver.

"I'm going down below to get some sleep."

He walked away quickly, setting up a few security measures before settling down in his cabin bed. Less than an hour later, the tug of the warning cable woke him and he watched through slitted eyes as Rodney tried, unsuccessfully, to sneak into the cabin. John winced and smiled at the soft curses as the man stubbed his toe, silently watching to see what Rodney had in mind. He sighed softly as Rodney curled up on the floor and wrapped the tattered damp rag of a blanket back over himself. Pushing up from the bed, John snagged a warm, dry blanket and threw it in Rodney's direction. He heard a muffled cry of annoyance as it landed on the man's head, laughing silently as Rodney glared at him before realizing he now had a warm blanket. John heard the slap of the damp blanket hitting the floor and when he looked over again, Rodney was curled back up under the new blanket, the moonlight filtering through the portholes casting him in an ethereal light.

Definitely too long since I got laid, John thought miserably. He beat up his pillow and settled down, falling asleep instantly.

****

As soon as the drifter's boat cleared the atoll gate, Jack made his way to his own fishing boat knowing there was nothing more he could do for these people. Those that were not already captured or dead were racing towards the open sea with whatever they could carry, though Jack did not hold out much hope for most of them. In truth, they would be better off staying because Maybourne was not the kind to kill for the fun of it. He'd squash any resistance and then hold onto the rest as forced labor. After all, it was hard to be the self-proclaimed _King of Earth_ if he had no minions to bow down before him. Sure enough, the killing stopped once the atoll people put down their weapons and surrendered but Jack did not intend to do the same.

For the first time in almost three years, he had hope in his heart. McKay had brought that hope to him and he was not about to let the scientist get away. As soon as he cleared the gate, he gunned the engine and headed out in pursuit of Rodney McKay, knowing he would be using up the last of his precious fuel supply but he'd saved it for just this reason. Ahead, he could see the pirate vessel in pursuit of the drifter's boat. The pirate boat was small and swift but it could not outrun the fishing boat when the engines were working at maximum. Jack plowed into it without any remorse, aware that he could be dooming the two man crew because the waters around these parts were full of sharks.

He frowned when he saw no sign of the drifter's boat ahead of him and pulled out a small tracking device, sighing when it picked up the bleep of his quarry. Jack silently congratulated himself for tagging McKay, slipping the bug into the pocket of the tattered cargo pants worn by the scientist. With luck, McKay wouldn't discover it and cast it overboard in some paranoid belief that it was leading the NID to him. The course changed suddenly, no doubt to throw off any normal pursuers but Jack simply turned the wheel to follow. From the speed at which the other boat was moving, Jack knew he would have a hard time keeping in range, let alone catching up. He could only hope the drifter either stayed on this course or slowed down.

After another hour, Jack yawned. "Damn! I'm too old for this," he muttered and pulled up the old navigation charts to see if he could plot the direction the drifter was taking. The charts were fairly useless for anything else and would fool anyone who wasn't used to navigating by the stars because the polarity of the planet had changed and so had its axis of rotation. Magnetic north had moved and the Pole star was no longer the single unmoving point in the northern hemisphere. For most people, it was unimportant that there was a new magnetic north. For Jack, it was crucial to know exactly where he was on the planet because, at the time of the Ori attack, there was only one Stargate left on Earth and that was buried deep inside Cheyenne Mountain. He gave a wry grin, wondering whether it was intentional or just mere fluke that they were heading towards Colorado.

****

Rodney awoke with a start, breath coming in harsh gasps as the dream images faded. He'd seen it again, the blue well of water, rippling, enticing, promising so much and delivery on all of those promises. He saw the strange city again; he saw alien spires and towers stretching up into an azure blue sky, of water as far as the eye could see. But he saw monsters in his dream too; gothic style vampires with razor sharp claws and teeth, sucking the very soul out of a man. Death, destruction, fear and horror mingled freely with awe and wonder, with happiness and life-affirming joy. Triumph against adversity, numbed by devastating loss and loneliness as he stood gazing across the sea to the distant horizon as the sun set on another world... or was it this world all twisted up? He didn't know anymore. All he knew was that he was different, that he had the ability to move as freely underwater as in the air above. He didn't know why but every time he tried to make sense of it, all he would see is a pair of caring blue eyes.

His head ached again, bright lights dancing before his closed eyelids and he sucked in a breath as a warm hand landed on his shoulder, shaking him gently. Opening his eyes, he found the drifter staring at him, hazel eyes openly searching his face with barely concealed concern.

"You okay?"

"Uhm... Yes. Yes. I'm... No. Not really." Rodney turned away from the stranger who had unwillingly taken him in. He eased up and groaned as his back muscles spasmed from lying on the uncomfortable floor for too long. "Oh, my back. Oh, that's going to need a chiropractor."

The man snorted softly but pushed gently on Rodney's back to get him fully upright. Rodney rocked his head from side to side, feeling the stiffened muscles shriek out in protest at the abuse. He'd give anything for Daniel and his magic fingers. The thought trailed off. Daniel? But no matter how hard he pushed, he could not draw an image of this Daniel into his mind.

"Come on. If you want to eat then you've got to earn it."

Rodney grimaced, wondering what menial tasks he would be set, but beggars could not be choosers, especially as he didn't want to repeat that terrible swim in shark infested waters. He pushed to his feet and staggered up the stairs and onto the deck, greeted by the endless stretch of ocean with nothing to break the monotony from here to the horizon except for the white tipped waves. He could feel equations tugging at the back of his mind; wind velocity, gravity, motion and chaos theory, all trying to describe the living world and failing because this was no control experiment with parameters set in a laboratory. This was the real world where a grain of sand and the flick of a predator's tail could alter the crest and trough of each wave just as surely as this boat cutting through them.

He turned his thoughts from the sea to the boat, slightly annoyed because he didn't know a whole lot about boats. This one looked battered and old, perhaps a little un-seaworthy at first glance but, in daylight, Rodney could see that she'd been deliberately scuffed, making her a less attractive proposition to anyone looking to steal a boat.

Her captain sauntered over and smiled, noticing his appraising look at his boat.

"She's an Elan Impression 434, built in 2004. Top of her class. She took ' _Boat of the Year_ ' in Dusseldorf." He laughed softly. "Figured she was a lot less expensive than buying a small waterfront property, and if I got bored with the scenery, all I had to do was up anchor." He grinned; white, even teeth glinting in the morning sunlight. "Of course, she's not as fast as a trimaran."

Rodney barely heard a word, completely mesmerized by the wind ruffling the messy dark hair, and the way the morning sunlight softened the sea and wind roughened features, smoothing the deeper lines at the creases of the man's eyes. He was both handsome and rugged, loose shirt billowing in the breeze, all golden skin with fine curls of dark hair covering a lean but muscular chest. Rodney felt a warm ache low in his belly, his cock hardening in response to the beauty of this man standing before him.

"I'm good with engines," he blurted out when he realized the man was frowning at him.

***

"You are, are you?" John narrowed his eyes, appraising Rodney carefully, uncertain if he wanted to give a complete stranger access to his precious engine even if he rarely fired her up, relying more on the sails. He licked his lips, tasting the sea spray. "So, you've been down there," he stated, changing the subject and looking beyond the confines of the yacht to the ocean.

Using SCUBA equipment, John had tried to dive deep once but he hadn't reached bottom, and he had seen nothing in the darkness below even after breaking one of the few light sticks he'd picked up before the disaster. Without a swimming buddy, he quickly lost sense of time and realized he would be cutting it fine on the ascent. He ended up taking the final stretch too quickly when his oxygen ran out and spent almost a week suffering through a milder case of the bends. He knew he'd been lucky. If he'd gone down a another thirty feet or stayed just a little longer then he would have died because there was no emergency services now, and no helicopter available to airlift stupid divers to the closest now nonexistent hospital.

Rodney had been down there though. He'd touched the ground beneath the sea. Yet, physically, he seemed no different to John except for the gills cleverly hidden behind his ears. His skin seemed just as soft looking too if a little too pale, like a fish's belly, and perhaps there was the slightest unnatural sheen to it. Maybe John had simply been unlucky, and Rodney had dived in a shallower spot.

"So what's down below?"

"Here?" Rodney looked confused and then disdainful. "This is the Gulf of Mexico. It was underwater before the...the..." he waved a hand at all the water surrounding them.

John raised an eyebrow, impressed that Rodney would know where they were because most people couldn't read sea charts even before the disaster. "We're heading north-west so we should be over what was land soon. Or least we would be heading north-west if north was still in the same place."

"Huh. You noticed. Although it was pretty obvious if you looked up at the night sky." Rodney started in on a long explanation and, annoying though it was to be told something he already knew, he found he liked listening to Rodney talk. He wondered when he had started to miss hearing the sound of another human voice. It helped that Rodney was also a tempting sight for the eyes too, with his quirkily handsome face so expressive and so vulnerable, and his broad shoulders and nicely curved ass. In daylight, his eyes were an amazing blue and John had seen the way the pupils dilated as Rodney looked at him, his interest obvious even if he made no move.

"John. John Sheppard." Rodney looked confused at JOhn's proffered hand. "That's my name."

"Oh! Yes, of course... John."

Rodney's hand was no larger than his own but the fingers were a fraction shorter, the tips a little more callused than John expected yet still softer than his own sea-weathered hands. He imagined the feel of them trailing down his body, sending licks of desire through every nerve ending as that hand wrapped around his hardened cock and stroked him.

Rodney's face was a little flushed when he pulled his hand away.

"I really do know about engines, and I noticed the gearing mechanism you employed yesterday to make our great escape wasn't as smooth as it--"

"It just needs a little maintenance, which isn't so easy to come by anymore" John stated a little defensively.

"I could..." Rodney gestured with his hand, and though having someone swabbing the deck was appealing, if Rodney could fix the gearing mechanism then that would be a whole lot better.

He thought they would spend the day working in silence but Rodney loved to talk, barely shutting up, as if he had a lifetime of silence to make up for. Or maybe he was just scared, wondering when John was going to dump him overboard like the last drifter.

John had heard that story spill from Rodney's lips twice over, how he'd been forced to swim through shark infested water for almost two weeks before reaching another atoll. It was probably sheer luck that the drifter had been relatively close to the next atoll when he'd taken offense at harboring a mutant. Either that or he'd gotten fed up of the constant chatter.

"Don't you ever stop to listen."

Rodney paused mid-sentence, head tilted vaguely to one side. "Listen to what?"

"That's your problem. You're so loud you don't hear anything; the sea, the waves lapping against the boat, the wind across the top of the water."

"Hmmmph! Silence is overrated."

John shook his head, wondering if Rodney was as loud in bed, or whether John could silence him with a hard dick or his tongue between those soft, mobile lips.

"Try it now," Rodney stated.

The non sequitur threw John for a moment as Rodney watched him in eager anticipation, and then he figured it out and smiled tightly to cover his temporary insanity. A few moments later, the additional mast and sail were lifting towards the prow in one smooth motion, the wind catching it and driving the yacht forward. He didn't use it too often as it could easily destabilize the yacht but there were times when it had proved a life saver, like yesterday.

That night, John cleared off space in the second aft cabin, the one next door to his own, and left both the dried and aired blankets folded up on it. He could see Rodney was unused to anyone showing any concern for his comfort and wondered if it had always been that way, or whether Rodney simply had no memory to call upon.

Small whimpers of terror and pain called John from sleep for the second night in a row and it took all his control not to comfort the man. Instead he listened to the soft cries and sobbing words, trying to make sense of them but he had no context to put them in; ancient rings of blue water, vampires and darkness, several names cried out in loss, Carson and Daniel, Elizabeth and Jeannie.

"Have to find them. Have to go back. Griffin!"

The words grew louder, anger and grief spilling through them until John could bear it no more. He crawled onto the double bunk and gripped Rodney by one broad shoulder while the other cupped the man's only slightly beard-roughened face. Eyes snapped open, wide and alarmed, looking straight into John's soul... and then they were kissing desperately, mouths open and needy, tongues battling as each sought to invade, to overpower, and conquer. John grasped the light brown hair, feeling the soft curls running through his fingers as Rodney clutched hold of him in sheer desperation. It was lust and confusion, it was solace and an end to loneliness, all wrapped up in one single despairing package, and John could not resist, did not want to resist. He could have this, he could take it all; the kisses and long strokes, the bites and scratches and faintest beard burn, and no one could court martial him. No one gave a damn anymore. No one was alive to care anymore.

He shoved down his boxers as Rodney wrestled out of his tattered sleep attire, feeling the cool night air against his heated flesh for but a moment until he was hard pressed against Rodney's naked skin, sharing the heat from his body. Pulling back on Rodney's hair, he exposed the strangely pale column of his throat, pressing kisses over the Adam's apple, against the heady pulse and up to the strong jaw line. He tasted so good, so sweet and salty with an underlying scent that pulled a groan from John as the sensory overload zinged straight to his already achingly hard groin. A roll of hips gave him the desperately needed friction, precome smoothing each stroke against Rodney's softer belly. Sweet whimpering and desperate pleas accompanied the frantic grasp of fingers digging into John's ass as Rodney drove them together, harder, faster, keening softly as liquid heat flooded between their close-pressed bellies. His own release followed, body and mind spiraling out of control even as he soared away in ecstasy.

Afterwards, they lay in an awkward tangle of arms and legs, panting harshly until their rapidly beating hearts began to slow, taking deeper, shuddering breaths. John gave a bemused smile as the ghost of a breath warmed his cooling skin. He reached down to where Rodney had kicked off the blankets, drawing them back over the two of them, and shivered as he felt Rodney snuggle up against him, head pillowed on John's shoulder.

Finally, John broke the uncomfortable silence.

"Well... that was different."

Rodney gave a soft almost reproachful snort but burrowed in closer, uncaring that they were sticky and damp, or that they'd just humped each other with barely a preamble, like two horny teenagers.

Rodney's body grew heavier as he relaxed into sleep, leaving John staring up at an unfamiliar part of the ceiling and yet too lost in his thoughts to care. His fingers continued to sweep across Rodney's body, unable to resist the tactile sensation of another person's soft, heated flesh instead of just his own.

****

Maybourne slammed his hand down on the tabletop. "You lost him? How? How could you lose him... AGAIN!?"

The news had taken several days to reach him even though Simmons had a radio but, Simmons had decided to bring the news to him personally this time, no doubt believing he had information that was far more important than bringing one errant scientist to NID headquarters.

"Jack O'Neill helped him escape."

"Jack?"

Maybourne's lips twisted. He should have dealt with Jack from the very beginning, and forced him to either join NID or die; except he liked Jack. He liked knowing the man was out there in the world. He'd had his agents watching him since the end of the world, half expecting Colonel Carter or even the Asgard to show up and snatch the man away from this watery grave of a world. Maybourne had anticipated being rescued with him because ruling a planet was only good if the planet was worth ruling. The Earth was just a ball of water now, with barely enough people left in the gene pool to prevent them all falling into drooling, genetic freaks a few generations down the line.

One of Maybourne's agents, who had been checking out a distant atoll, had seen McKay drift in on a life raft. His people were investigating the sudden disappearance of several of the smaller floating villages, gone without a trace. Rumors of large sea beasts swallowing them whole were abounding but Maybourne had wondered if a far less exotic explanation could be behind the disappearances. It was more likely that someone was gathering the remnants of humanity together, perhaps to form a new confederation to rival his own control of the planet's ocean.

His agent had orders to report any new faces arriving in his area, sending photos back to Maybourne's command center on the only military vessel to survive the Ori attack. He's recognized McKay immediately, having worked with the irascible scientist in Area51. McKay was one person he had not expected to see again because the man had headed up the science department on the Atlantis Expedition. They had not been heard from since stepping through the gate to the Pegasus galaxy four years earlier, but if McKay was here then, obviously, they had survived and had found a means to return to Earth.

McKay had slipped away by the time the order came to grab him, trading in the raft for passage on some drifter's boat.

Maybourne had put every agent on alert and they had caught up to the drifter eventually, only to discover the half-wit had dumped McKay in the sea more than a week earlier, claiming him to be some mutant freak. It had been interesting watching the frenzied feeding of the sharks when he cut the man and threw him overboard. The gene pool was in a bad enough state as it was without adding a moron to the mix, and it had appeased some of his frustration at possibly losing a chance to get off of this planet.

However, the thought remained that McKay had to have come from somewhere. Either there was a ship in orbit or he had come through the Stargate.

As the Stargate was buried hundreds of feet beneath Cheyenne Mountain, beyond the reach of his divers, and probably completely flooded and with no power, Maybourne figured it was more likely that he came by ship. The _Daedalus_ had managed to escape the final battle that saw the _Prometheus_ destroyed alongside the _Korolev_ , and the last report was Caldwell sounding the retreat, forced to flee from the approaching Ori ships after sustaining heavy damage. Maybourne had always wondered where it went and, after all these years, he had assumed the Ori had chased it down and destroyed it. Now he was not so certain. Perhaps the _Daedalus_ had survived after all. Perhaps she was waiting high above the world for a signal from McKay or someone else down here.

Perhaps this was why people were disappearing from all over the world.

He sighed. There were too many unknown factors, and if the _Daedalus_ was in orbit then why had no one else come to help Earth over the past three years? Where were the Jaffa and the Asgard?

When McKay turned up alive and well on the Sundown atoll, it should have been an easy matter to grab him, and maybe his men had been a little over zealous when they tore the place apart searching for him. Yet, once again, the scientist has slipped away with the help of one of the drifters who sailed from atoll to atoll, trading goods but otherwise staying away from what was left of humanity. After questioning a few of the survivors, all Maybourne knew for certain was that the drifter had headed west, taking McKay with him. Only one decent atoll lay in that area.

He should have planned the snatch personally but had left it up to Simmons.

"McKay's got gills."

Well, that explained how he managed to survive being forced overboard, and it meant someone like Beckett was still around playing with human DNA, or they'd found some kind of Ancient transformation machine in Atlantis.

"They were going to execute him on the spot for being a freak so it's fortunate O'Neill stepped in."

"So he's with Jack."

"Not exactly."

Maybourne closed his eyes and counted slowly to ten. "Either he's with Jack, or he's not."

"There was another drifter in a fast boat. He took McKay... and O'Neill followed."

"This is all very interesting but why are you here rather than chasing him down?" His voice rose in frustration.

Simmons moved to the sea chart and drew on the wipe-clean surface, plotting McKay's erratic course. Maybourne watched with increasing awareness as a pattern emerged.

"He's heading towards Cheyenne Mountain."

***

Three weeks had passed since they lost McKay and Griffin, and Lorne knew the chances of finding either man alive now was very slim, especially as the last transmission had been a distress call. Kavanagh had detected an energy pulse directed down from one of the orbiting Ori satellites towards the gateship but, without a means to triangulate, that left a whole lot of ocean to search. Too much ocean. All they could do was hope the two men had managed to escape the gateship before it sunk to a critical level, and had found refuge on one of the few man-made atolls scattered around the area.

Each day, the small fleet of gateships went up towards the surface and skimmed just above the ocean waves, radiating out in all directions as they sought out the remnants of humanity on Earth, and their two missing men. Lorne had thought he knew what to expect for he had been on board the _Daedalus_ when she was forced to bear witness to the power of the Ori and abandon their home planet to its fate, but seeing the devastation from the planet surface was far worse. When the leaders of Earth refused to accept Origin, the Ori had sent out lethal pulses to destroy every ship they could see from high orbit before unleashing a superweapon that targeted the polar caps. The flood of melted water had obliterated all the land within just a few short hours, wiping out nearly seven billion humans.

With no choice remaining, the _Daedalus_ had limped to the one place where she would find refuge: Atlantis. It had taken them months instead of weeks, nursing the damaged engines all the way but they had been welcomed with open arms and a horde of scientists under McKay's control.

They had stepped up the search for ZPMs, aware that they could do nothing for Earth until they had at least one ZPM to spare but no one ever suggested abandoning those left behind.

It was McKay's knowledge of both the SGC and Ancient technology that had made it all possible once they found a spare ZPM. He had headed up the first team, using the gateship to enter the submerged gate room and set up an Ancient shield to push back the water to sublevel 11, powering the grid with a Mark 2 Naquadah generator, and installing the two-thirds depleted ZPM. Both McKay and Zelenka reckoned the ZPM held enough power to open the gate back to Atlantis six times perhaps seven though the last time would be for a scant few seconds only.

As far as any of them were concerned, all that remained above were the small boats that had survived the raging seas so it was a shock to come across one the most well known ocean liners in the world, still seaworthy, and with a passenger list that was close to two thousand. Three years ago, the QE2 had been nestled in port in the Fiji Islands when the Ori struck, almost indistinguishable from some of the small islands surrounding her. She would have held three thousand passengers and crew but sickness and hunger had almost halved her number. With so many people, the logistics of carrying them all by gateship to the SGC--and housing them until it was time to push them through to Atlantis--was a nightmare.

Kavanagh, of all people, had made the suggestion to leave them on board the QE2 and bringing the ship to them, picking up more survivors on route.

The gateships still brought back more people daily and, all told, there were close to five hundred refugees packing the corridors of the SGC, leaving just the gate room and control room free for operations. These people would be the first batch to go through the gate and, boy, was Dr. Weir going to be panicking when he told her of the other three thousand on the way.

"We have six opportunities to open the gate with the full 38 minute window. A seventh attempt would last only seconds."

Lorne frowned. "I thought the 38 minutes was a given once the wormhole was created."

Kavanagh looked down his nose at Lorne, the familiar derision crossing his face and twisting his mouth. "That's for local gates that can draw power from the other gate in the system. Intergalactic gates require the ZPM to maintain the wormhole, which is why we couldn't go to Atlantis without McKay installing it that first time around."

Lorne raised both hands defensively. "Okay. So we have six windows of opportunity and more than three thousand people. That's over five hundred per trip minimum. Is that doable?"

"Logistically, it's possible," Kavanagh stated. "Originally, we had 500 scientists and military, and all their equipment, get through the gate within 38 minutes." He sighed, leaning forward. "We start when the QE2 arrives. They take only what they can carry, lined up four or five abreast in readiness. Dr. Weir will have to sort out her end and keep them moving out of the gate room as soon as they arrive. When the gate shuts down, we wait two hours and then send the next lot through." He took off his glasses and wiped them. "The walking injured and infirm go at the end of each cycle. We load the very sick and as many others onto the gateships, and one returns to Atlantis at the beginning of each cycle and clears the gate room immediately."

Lorne nodded, having to admit that it was a good plan on paper. It made sense leaving the walking wounded to the end as they would need the most time to clear the gate room. He made a quick calculation. The QE2 should arrive within three days, leaving them less than five days before they were forced to abandon McKay and Griffin on Earth. He had a feeling that five days wouldn't be enough to find them.

***

Rodney woke up slowly from the most restful sleep he had gained since finding himself adrift on _waterworld_. He turned his head to find John settled on his side with hazel eyes appraising him carefully, only then registering the hand that had stopped stroking his body from shoulder blade to the curve of his ass.

Early morning light filtered through the small porthole, lighting up John's face and revealing a soft wistfulness, as if he hadn't expected to have this and wasn't sure what to do now he did. Rodney shifted onto his side facing John and reached back for him, trailing his fingers down his ribcage, across the slight dip of his lean waist to the jut of his hip. He left his hand there, fingers soothing the soft flesh in small circles, waiting for a sign. It came with the slightest stretch of neck as John leaned forward and Rodney met him the rest of the way, kissing him softly and letting the kiss deepen gradually.

Last night had tasted like desperation and despair, clutching to John as his world slipped sideways, filled with a need to chase away the nightmares and prove he was still alive. Today he felt safe for the first time that he could recall. John knew what he was, a mutant, and had still wanted him.

For the first time in weeks, his head no longer hurt and his body felt relaxed yet stiff in all the right places. He edged in closer to John, draping his leg over John's so he could push his morning erection against the crease between torso and thigh, moaning deep in the back of his throat at the heady sensations that throbbed low in his belly and groin. He could feel the press of John's erection against his belly, feel the slipperiness of fresh precome over the still slightly tacky remnants of last night's frantic coupling. A gentle rocking, almost in counterpoint to the boat, sent delicious licks of pleasure running through him and he moaned into the kiss, submitting to the easy pressure of John's tongue. When his release came, it rolled over him in waves of sweet pleasure, warming all the cold places deep inside and tearing loose some of the darkness that kept his memories locked up tight against him.

He saw it again, the alien city with spires touching the sky, surrounded by crystal blue water and he knew it was no place here on Earth. A cheeky smile and kind blue eyes smiled down at him, a soft voice teasing him gently about mouse genes and goldfish. The image flashed to dark eyes filling with milky cataracts as a handsome young face grew ancient right beside him. He gasped, feeling the stronger-than-human hand pressed firmly against his own chest, pinning him down on the ground with ease even as he squirmed and writhed beneath it, desperately trying to loosen its grip upon him, seeing its razor sharp teeth bared while it fed upon... upon....

"You okay?"

"I saw... There was this... creature." He laughed self-deprecatingly. "Like a Kiss-vampire... You know, like the rock group, with the painted faces and the..." He let out a deep breath as a sigh of annoyance that he coud recall some old rock band but not his own past. There was somethign terrifying about that creature though. "It killed someone... and it was going to kill me next."

John leaned in and wrapped his arms around him, drawing him close. "Probably just a nightmare. You're safe."

Rodney closed his eyes, trying to dispel the vision of a youthful face aging horrifically, turning skeletal and then to dust before his eyes. He reached out blindly and his hand was caught and held, holding him tight, offering quiet reassurance as he regained his equilibrium. He opened his eyes and pressed closer to John once more, and only then did he realize that John had not come, feeling the hard length of his cock pressing against his thigh. He felt a little guilty and pushed back against it.

"Sorry, sorry... I--"

"Hey, it's okay. I'm okay."

*

As the terror left Rodney's eyes, John rocked against him slowly, feeling the buzz just beneath his skin and holding it there, letting the need build again, gradually. The heady musk of sweat and sex and Rodney had filled the small cabin and he wanted to float along with it, to savor it. He wanted to build a sense memory to help him through the lonely years that stretched ahead, saving it for the time when Rodney was no longer with him. He ignored the sharp ache in his chest at the thought of losing this even though he'd only known Rodney for two days.

John bowed his head and kissed the tip of Rodney's shoulder before pulling at his arm gently and twisting it slightly, intrigued by the simple tattoo that had caught Jack's eye. Others were searching for Rodney, using this strange marking as a means of identification of their prey. He let his tongue trail over the mane to the wings, tasting the sweat and salt on Rodney's skin. Within the dark lines were small symbols, barely noticeable except to the keen eye, their patterns unusual, flowing down the mane and wings. He pulled back a fraction, finger tracing along the almost hidden line of symbols.

"What does it mean?"

"Hmm?" Rodney was dozing, body all loose and relaxed from his release, long eyelashes flickering as he forced his eyes back open and twisted beneath John. "I don't know. I..."

John kissed him, wanting to wipe away the fear that had crept back into enormous blue eyes as Rodney tried to recall more of his lost past. He pressed Rodney to the bed, rolling half on top of him, kissing slow and deep and dirty until Rodney relaxed beneath him. John pulled back a fraction so he could see into Rodney's eyes, cock still rubbing slowly against warm flesh, hard enough to keep the pleasure rippling beneath the surface but not enough to tip him over the edge.

"I want..." He broke off, unsure how to ask for what he wanted with words, and let his hand talk for him, stroking down Rodney's side to the sweet curve of his ass. He kneaded the firm, rounded flesh, eyes imploring Rodney to get the message and was rewarded by a lift of hips, pushing against his aching cock.

"Yes," Rodney stated softly, quietly and John felt his stomach flip in desire.

His fingers were shaking as he grabbed the nearly empty bottle of hand lotion by the bed, silently praying there would be enough because he wanted this so badly. His lubed finger circled the tight muscle, sinking in slowly, his cock twitching anew in eager anticipation of the soft, hot channel gripping his finger so tightly. Rodney writhed beneath him, his body remembering this even if his mind did not, and removing any lingering doubts for John that he might be taking advantage of the man's loss of memory, and unknowingly subjugating Rodney's free will. Two fingers, then three stretched the muscle, Rodney's hips jerking with every plunge of John's fingers as they brushed over the sensitive gland. Soft mewling noises and whimpers became harsher grunts and gasps, gradually forming into urgent, breathy words.

"Do it! Do it!"

It took a moment to slather more hand lotion over his cock and then he was forcing Rodney's knees closer to his chest and pushing forward, moaning as he breached the loosened entrance and sank into tight heat in one long stroke. He leaned in and sucked on surprise-parted lips, fucking Rodney's mouth with his tongue as he thrust in and out of his tight, beautiful ass. He wanted it to last forever, wanted to savor the sweetness of Rodney lying beneath him, muscles clenching around his cock as a second orgasm was torn from a body that had barely recovered from the first, triggering his own.

The release seemed to flow from every part of him, curling his toes, locking every muscle as his climax flooded through him so hard he forgot to breathe, and then he was soaring, bringing memories of freefall, of flying so high and so fast, stomach dropping in glorious descent. Spots were dancing before his eyes when he could finally open them, and he fell headlong again into deep blue eyes filled with joy and immense satisfaction.

They lazed for almost an hour afterwards, skin still tingling from pleasurable aftershocks, tongues and fingers gliding over smooth flesh, mapping every inch with taste and touch. Rodney talked almost incessantly, in soft murmurs and happy noises, and John was certain he'd fallen in love in the man because the sounds were now as comforting as the sea lapping at the sides of the yacht.

"Come on," he ordered later, dragging Rodney's still lethargic body from the bed.

The sun was only halfway up the sky, mid-morning, and the ocean was more than inviting as John dived cleanly from the yacht, gasping as the water cooled his overheated flesh. He felt momentary panic as something came up from beneath him, wrapping around him, and he laughed at his own paranoia as Rodney shook saturated hair from his face to reveal playful blue eyes and a lopsided smirk. They kissed again, deep and long, slipping beneath the water with all thought of life and death banished momentarily until John realized his lungs were still filling with precious oxygen as they sank lower and lower, the water becoming too cold and too dark. A kick of feet and they were rising, and John took an unnecessary deep breath as his head broke the surface, watching as Rodney circled him slowly, with his lips swollen and red from their sustained kiss of life. So beautiful that John wanted to drag him back to bed.

They spent the rest of the day lying on the deck, letting the golden rays of the sun warm them through as they continued to kiss and play lazily, touching and caressing, learning every curve and hollow, and making love. The sun set too soon, sealing away this perfect day forever as the rest of the world was forgotten though John hoped tomorrow would be the same as today.

They fell asleep in John's cabin, curled up against each other, with John's chest to Rodney's back, holding his newfound lover in his embrace through the long night.

****

Jack was gaining for the faster ship carrying McKay had slowed considerably over the past two days, stopping altogether this day. He knew they were still heading towards Cheyenne Mountain, perhaps only a few days out now and wondered if McKay had regained his memory or if something else was pulling him in that direction. He hoped he would have caught up with them by the time they reached the coordinates for the SGC, though if they stayed anchored through the coming night then he might see them on the horizon just an hour or two after daybreak. With this thought keeping him going, he pressed on into the night, snatching an hour's sleep here and there, too concerned about drifting off course to sleep any longer.

He kept himself awake with thoughts of the past. When he turned down the rank of Brigadier General in favor of retirement, the Air Force had conferred the rank upon him anyway in some misguided belief that he would change his mind. He hadn't intended to and spent a chunk of his retirement fund on the fishing boat currently beneath his feet. He'd always loved fishing, from the lazy days sitting beside the small lake behind his home, to the longer deep sea fishing trips, catching blue marlin off Alabama. He'd never intended to live on the boat, just ensured she was comfortable enough for a week or maybe two out on the ocean. Jack was unsure if it was good or bad luck that he was out in the Atlantic when the Ori struck.

Hank Landry had taken over the SGC when Jack turned it down, and the last message had warned of water breaking through the sealed doors and into the gate room. He didn't need to guess the final outcome for he'd not spotted land since that day and doubted even the SGC could have survived the flood. He could not help but shiver when he realized that it could have been him trapped inside the SGC with the rising water. It could have been him that drowned that day. Instead he had traveled a while before being picked up by Maybourne.

Jack snorted derisively. Maybourne was like a cat with nine lives, managing to survive against the odds and snatch a victory at the same time. This time he was the man who would be king, proclaiming sovereignty over the remnants of humanity and shoring up his position by force. Some how, Maybourne had ended up on the only surviving ship from the US Navy, the USS ' _Curtis Wilbur_ '. She had been hidden among the Japanese islands when the Ori struck, though how Maybourne had managed to find her and take command was a mystery Jack had no intention of solving. All he knew was that Maybourne had the command of the only remaining military vessel with over a three hundred officers and men to do his bidding.

With the gray light of a new day spreading across the sky, Jack frowned as he saw a thin column of smoke rising into the sky on the horizon. He checked the tracking device and swore when he registered the blip that represented the bug planted on McKay traveling west at a rate faster than anything the drifter's boat could maintain. Torn between two options, he chose to check out the smoke first, pushing the engine for everything she had even though it would burn up more of what remained of her precious fuel.

Pieces of driftwood smacking the side of his boat gave Jack his first warning that he had reached the spot where the column of smoke had risen more than an hour earlier. He slowed down, threading his way through the debris floating on the ocean, squinting when he saw something, or someone moving ahead. A few minutes later, he could make out the lean frame of the drifter and edged towards him.

"Hey!" The man waved his hands over his head, calling for attention while floating precariously on top of a larger piece of what must have once been the hull of his boat.

Jack cursed as he saw a shark fin break the surface not far from the man but it circled lazily, making no attempt to run at the man. Still, those last few moments were tense as Jack drew close, and he did not draw a steady breath until the man had clambered on board to safety.

"What the hell happened? And where's McKay?"

The stranger licked his lips, eyes filled with anger, fear and something else that Jack could not determine.

"NID took him...and then blew my boat out of the water thinking I was on it."

"How?"

"Two Sea Hawk helicopters. One kept me pinned down while the other came in and grabbed Rodney." His expression hardened. "I've gotta get him back."

Jack stared hard at the man, finally registering that hidden emotion as more than battered pride or wounded dignity. This man had actually come to care about Rodney during these few days.

"No. _We've_ got to get him back." He saw a moment of distrust in the man's eyes and then acceptance, followed by a quick, almost imperceptible nod. Jack took out the tracking device and angled it, seeing the man pull back a little in surprise when he realized what he was looking at.

"Let's get this boat moving," he stated to Jack.

****

Rodney struggled against the two men holding him, cursing and promising dire retribution. His rant choked off as a missile fired from the other helicopter, the yacht disintegrating before his eyes in a ball of flame and flying debris that fell like solid rain onto the churning water below. Rodney had one last shocked moment to stare upon the scene of devastation as the helicopter banked, and then the ocean was passing beneath them as the other helicopter fell into convoy with the one carry Rodney. He could feel his hands shaking, his lips moving yet unable to form words.

No one could have survived that explosion. No one. He sank back into the seat, still staring beyond the open doorway to the sea rushing below. Shocked and exhausted from the fight and the despair of losing John, he must have fallen into a half-waking, half-sleeping state as the helicopter skimmed close to the waves, his senses lost in the sparkle of the water flashing past. He experienced a semi-lucid vision of another journey above the waves, of a man talking about tomatoes and asking if he had Spanish blood.

"Good luck, Rodney."

Like Icarus, they had flown too high and their wings had melted, sending them hurtling towards the ocean. Too deep... dark and cold, the pressure crushing against his body, gills fighting to force precious oxygen into them as he fought to get to the surface.

His eyes snapped open and he blinked rapidly to dislodge the terrifying dream. Looking through the cockpit window, he realized he must have slept because the sun had moved a fair distance across the sky. The man beside him gave him a meaningful look but, for once, Rodney had nothing to say to anyone. Instead he looked out across the endless, lonely sea, slowly becoming lost in memories of the past few days, and barely registering the dull gray shape looming on the horizon until the helicopter bumped down onto the landing pad on its aft deck. Hands hauled him from his seat and pulled him, unresisting, across the hard deck while another hand forced his head down to avoid the rotors still spinning above them. He kept his eyes glued to the deck, absently noting the small signs of wear and the attempts to repair the ship but noticing little else. His thoughts were with John, recalling heavy-lidded eyes as John moved inside him, of strong, callused fingers caressing his skin, firmly pinching a nipple and sending shock waves of pleasure through him. He bit back a sob as he recalled frolicking in the sea with John, circling him like a shark and breathing for him, trying to share a little of the world beneath the surface. He had lost so much already, his memories stretching back only a few weeks, and he wasn't sure he could stand losing John too.

A push on his back sent him almost sprawling down a narrow corridor that opened out into a large control room.

"Doctor McKay, we meet again."

Rodney stared at the stranger standing before him, hating the smug grin, and tensing against the hands that were still holding him fast. He wanted to wipe the grin off the man's face, wanted to pummel him with his fists until he was bloody and raw. This man had killed John.

"Who are you?" Contempt dripped from his words but not enough to hide the grief, though the man seemed oblivious to Rodney's pain. Instead, he straightened, eyebrows rising before the smugness turned to a smirk.

"I should take it as a complement that you don't recall me, doctor." His smirk widened. "Colonel Harry Maybourne. Now King Harold of Earth."

Rodney sneered at the delusion this man was under. "King of what? King of a few dozen boats welded together to form a man-made island? King of the Boat People?"

Rodney could see he had struck a raw nerve, as the man's eyes hardened, his smirk freezing on his now not-so smug face.

"Where are they, doctor? Where are the people you've...rescued? Is it a ship? The _Daedalus_ perhaps, or maybe the Asgard have finally come to settle their debt."

Rodney hadn't a clue what the man was talking about and this must have shown on Rodney's face.

"Where are you taking them? Atlantis?" Maybourne demanded.

Atlantis, Rodney thought. The city that sank into the sea. He frowned as an image of soaring towers and a wide blue skies sprang back into his mind but Atlantis was supposed to be beneath the waves, but if he had come from there then perhaps that explained why he could breathe underwater. Perhaps he was confusing two separate memories, the surface water stretching to the horizon here and the city beneath the sea. Perhaps this was why he could not find his way home, because he was looking in the wrong place, looking above the sea when he ought to be looking below. He needed to find the ring of blue water; the gateway to Atlantis. He needed to go home. There had to be something there that could take away the emptiness inside him from where John had been ripped away.

"I don't know... I just... I don't now."

"Perhaps you need a little time to think about it." Maybourne stared at one of his men and Rodney found himself dragged away again. He was taken deeper into the ship and finally, pushed inside a small room. The door slammed shut behind him, leaving him alone with just a small light coming through the tiny window in the door. He sank down onto the rough bunk and curled up tight.

John was dead, and he was all alone in an alien world.

****

John didn't waste breath on cursing when the engine finally spluttered and died for they both knew the fuel would never take them all the way to Maybourne's ship. They had lost that tiny blip denoting Rodney's position after several hours when the helicopters flew out of range but at least the pilots had not deviated from a straight course in all that time. John knew it was because they had nothing to fear from discovery. They were the only military vessel left floating on the surface of the planet and not even the massive civilian cruise liner would go up against the _Curtis Wilbur_. John knew the QE2 made a point of staying half a world away from destroyer for that very reason though, eventually, Maybourne would catch up with the liner and try to subjugate her--or failing that, blow her out of the water the same way he had destroyed John's yacht.

He shuddered at the thought because the QE2 carried most of what remained of Earth's population, and once they were gone, the human race would reach extinction level.

John helped Jack raise the sails, years of dealing with his own rigging making it easy, though he had to admit that he and Jack worked well together, moving as a single unit. The circumstances were different but working with Jack reminded him of the team he had lost in Afghanistan, of the easy camaraderie where everyone knew what to do and when, until it all went to hell. After serving his sentence at Leavenworth, teamwork was the last thing on John's mind. He had wanted to be alone, responsible for no one but himself. He'd forgotten what it felt like to belong and yet, that is what he had found with Rodney as they worked on the engine and gear mechanism, except he had gained far more than mere comradeship, he'd found companionship too. Before Rodney, the long days drifted into each other, one barely distinguishable from the next, but Rodney had made each day something new and special.

Perhaps he couldn't say the same about Jack because he hardly knew the man, though John had introduced himself finally. However, Jack reminded him of good times and that made no sense because all they had in common was a man John had met and fallen in love with only a few days earlier. When they were underway again, he turned to the older man, needing to know why he cared so damn much.

"Why?"

Jack gave him a half smile, not bothering to misunderstand the question. "Because he knows the way to dry land."

"Something tells me you've already figured out that part so why do you need him?"

A half shrug. "Maybe I don't like to leave a man behind."

John knew that was partly the truth because he could sense the honor in the older man. Jack had already displayed some of that honor when he placed himself in greater danger just so Rodney would have the chance to escape the atoll. That Jack had also managed to escape later was probably more a testament to his own battle skills but John knew there had to be more to Jack's sacrifice than a desire to rescue an innocent man held under threat of execution purely for having gills. He could sense the mounting tension in the man beside him that almost mirrored his own.

"You recognized him on the atoll. Are you one of them too?"

Brown eyes sharpened as they glanced towards John, and then the thin lips twitched into another half smile and Jack gave a soft snort. "I suppose it's a little too late for plausible denial... though I don't have gills." He pulled back an ear to reveal nothing unnatural behind. He took a deep breath. "There's this... Stargate, found buried in Egypt decades ago."

"Stargate?"

"Yeah... Daniel named it. Shouldn't let him name anything."

John heard the warmth in Jack's voice as he spoke of this Daniel, mixed with a little pain, loss and regret. He waited for Jack to go on.

"It's a large... donut shaped... thing... that creates a sort of tunnel to another world. You step through the Stargate, and you step out on the other world." He grew serious. "We kind of made a few enemies out there." He gazed across the endless sea, "And one of them kicked our ass."

He blew out his cheeks, and John could see he was half-expecting to be accused of drinking sea water but John had been out on the ocean when the world ended. He had seen the strange orange beams in the sky and had barely survived the terrible storm that followed. Polar caps didn't just melt in a few hours, and people didn't start evolving working gills within a few years of a flood to end all floods. If anything, the Earth under attack by an alien race made a hell of a lot more sense.

When he made no derogatory comments, Jack turned back to face him and he saw the man relax a fraction. John listened as Jack told him a little more, finally summing it up in his own head.

So there was this Stargate, and these Ancients who'd lived millions of years ago, and sentient parasites that took over someone's body and enslaved almost every world in the galaxy. And then there were the Ori, the sort of dark to the Ancients' light, who fed off the worship of us mere mortals. His mother had been a devout catholic, though John had lost his faith a long time ago. Still, he recalled the obligatory Sunday school Bible lessons, listening to tales of a war raging in heaven.

Perhaps not all those Bible passages were stories after all. Perhaps there really was a war and someone had written about it over two thousand years ago, and now that war had reached their door step. Hell, it had kicked the damn door down judging by the destruction all around him.

"So Rodney knows how to get to dry land. But it's not on this planet, is it? It's through this Stargate."

Jack gave a wry grin. "McKay... Rodney was a leading scientist on the Ancient technology. When Daniel found the way to the lost city of the Ancients--Atlantis--Rodney headed up the scientific portion of the expedition. They left almost four years ago to another galaxy. The Pegasus galaxy."

"Hence the Pegasus tattoo on his arm."

"Daniel had one too." Again, he saw sadness and regret in Jack's eyes.

A flash of red on the tracking unit caught John's eye and he picked up the box, staring at it hard before handing it over to Jack.

"Well that's gonna make things easier," Jack stated.

Maybourne was, unwittingly, bringing Rodney straight back to them. All they had to do was wait, and figure out a way to get on board the destroyer so they could snatch Rodney back. Looking at Jack, he could read the same idea. Together, they took down the sails and started to plan.

****

Kavanagh took off his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. The QE2 would be here in just over a day and he still had so much left to figure out. Silently he cursed McKay for leaving him in this unenviable position. It had been so easy to mock McKay when he was the one making all the decisions, finding faults with his methods and deriding his theories. Now, he would give almost anything to hand the whole lot back to the self-professed super-genius, finally admitting his respect for the balancing act McKay had to perform on a daily basis. He thumped his forehead onto the table top, wishing he could hand this over to someone who had the skill to deal with all the minutiae of organizing this exodus and keep the technology running at the same time.

The aroma of Earl Grey tea wafted from close by and he raised his head as Lorne dropped into the seat opposite. Kavanagh accepted the tea with gratitude, wrapping his cold hands around the warm mug.

"How's it going?"

"Slow."

"We've cleared as much space as possible, dumped most of it in the ocean."

"You'll need to clear more. I want to reduce the forcefield by thirty percent."

"That'll drop it below sublevel 11. It means we won't be able to use the lower elevator to bring people down."

"The MALP garage on level 24 has an opening into the silo above the gate room. If I lower the shield to level 23, the gateships can pass through the shield and disembark the refugees there."

"We'd kind of planned to use that to hold most of the refugees while waiting to send them through the gate."

"Yes, I know...but they can sit in the stairwells and corridors. If we time it right, they won't be crushed in there for more than a few hours at a time."

"Why?"

Kavanagh pursed his lips. "I think I can extend the seventh opening of the Stargate to between 70 and 90 seconds if we collapse the shield within the next half an hour. If we leave the last gateship at sublevel 11 then..."

"McKay and Griffin will have a chance of getting back to Atlantis." Lorne nodded and laughed softly. "For all we know, they're on the QE2."

"I think the captain would have let us know if that was the case." He knew his disdain more than apparent.

"It's a big ship with a lot of people on board." Kavanagh had noticed the slight flinch and hardening of Lorne's eyes.

"Yes, it's a gamble but no one will be worse off than they are already, and I can shut off the power to the elevator and save on that too."

Lorne stared hard at him, and then his eyes softened as a smile played at the corners of his mouth. "He may be a pain in the ass...but I miss him too."

Kavanagh swallowed hard, wondering when he had become so transparent. For all of Rodney's foibles and less than savory characteristics, almost four years alone in the Pegasus galaxy had made them more than just working colleagues. With the loss of Earth, they were family now, a tribe, or a colony with Weir as its governor, and McKay and Caldwell as her top advisors; science and military. McKay was like a brother--hated and loved in equal measure. He fought with McKay over everything. They traded insults with each other, scoffed at each other's ideas, had even fought over the last piece of cake in the commissary, but when the time came to choose someone to back him up on this rescue mission to Earth, McKay had asked for him personally, respecting his abilities. Returning to Atlantis without McKay would be... He choked on that thought, unable to fathom the shock that would ripple through the small community, sapping away the joy of rescuing so many others.

"Half an hour, Major."

Lorne nodded and took a last gulp of his coffee. "I'll contact you as soon as we have everything...and _everyone_ moved."

Kavanagh sighed as Lorne rushed away, already barking out orders over his radio. He had a feeling he would get that call well within the half hour and quickly made final plans to reduce the shield.

****

Jack rummaged below until he had found what they needed and, together, they sorted out all the equipment. He knew the boat would be picked up on the destroyer's radar but the smaller motorboat would evade detection. With luck, no one would recognize his boat and, finding it empty, Maybourne would ignore it and move on, but not before he and John had managed to slip on board the destroyer. Fortunately, they would have cover of darkness by the time the destroyer reached them.

When the blip was just beyond the horizon, they clambered into the motorboat and headed out, only stopping when Jack determined they were at a safe distance. Then they waited. Jack could feel John's impatience but something told him that this was more than just a natural urge to get things moving. John had said very little since Jack hauled him from the wreckage of his boat but he had a feeling that all John's thoughts were wrapped up in McKay. He wouldn't be surprised because a lot of men had turned to other men for companionship--and more--since the end of the world, especially the drifters who were alone at sea for months at a stretch. They would arrive at the atoll and, if no willing female was available then they would slip into the darkness between the welded hulls of old boats and find comfort with another man.

Jack spotted them sometimes, though often he just heard their quiet moans as he moved about on patrol, and would leave them to their pleasure. Nobody cared anymore, not when there were too few women to go around and no reason to begrudge a man what little pleasure could be taken in this lost world.

"You were military," Jack stated suddenly. "Air Force."

"Yeah. Didn't go so well for me."

"Sheppard," Jack mused. He knew that name and he squinted at John's face as it was caught by the dying rays of the sun. "Afghanistan. You disobeyed an order and got your co-pilot killed."

John flinched as if struck and Jack knew he had got the right man. John didn't bother denying it, but he didn't bother to ask how Jack knew so much about him either. "In truth, I think they were more concerned about the multi-million dollar chopper I crashed."

Jack heard the bitterness behind John's words despite the slightly laconic tone but the fog was clearing from Jack's mind now as the memory resurfaced. Hammond had asked him to go over a list of possible recruits for the Stargate program and Major John Sheppard had been on his pile of worthy candidates until the incident in Afghanistan; Jack had been forced to place his file onto the rejection pile afterwards, even though he had disobeyed a few orders himself in the past. Thinking back, he thought they had planned to bust Sheppard back to Major and offer him a posting in McMurdo as a punishment detail after a short stint in Leavenworth. He wondered if the pilot had recognized McKay from taxi duty. Certainly, McKay was not the kind of man you tended to forget once he opened his mouth.

John's lips twisted sourly, as if anticipating Jack's next question. "Getting caught with my pants round my ankles and my cock up another man's ass didn't help my case any."

Jack winced. "So, after Leavenworth...?"

"A dishonorable discharge." John winced. "I don't regret it. Least not all of it." John sighed. "I miss flying."

Jack gave a wry smile because that was something he missed too. They fell into silence again, and Jack couldn't help but feel the Air Force had wasted an otherwise damn good pilot and officer over a stupid rule. If John had turned to a woman for comfort during that time then no one would have cared. But then, he'd have been stationed at McMurdo when the ice melted and would have been another one of the billions of people who lost their lives that day.

All further talk was suspended as the destroyer swept close by, slowly down as it approached Jack's fishing boat. They started paddling, and while Maybourne's people were occupied with Jack's boat, he and John used a harpoon gun to shoot a thin line around the stern railing, grabbing the descending line and tugging up a stronger rope that was knotted at intervals. They tied a loose slip knot and then pulled gently to raise the knot to the top before yanking it tight.

Once it was secured, Jack gestured to John to go first, waiting until he was halfway up the rope before starting his own ascent. He cursed as his knee twinged, objecting to the unusual strain placed upon it but, finally, he reached the top, accepting John's help gratefully. John detached the rope and they watched it drop, having no plan to leave the way they came, plus it could easily be spotted by a patrol and give away their presence.

As soon as Jack had his breath back after the hard climb, he nodded to John. It was time to go find McKay.

****

The rumor spread around the destroyer like wildfire, that the man dragged off the helicopter had a map to dry land tattooed upon his arm. Of course, there were also rumors that the man wasn't human, and that he was responsible for the disaster that flooded the world. Lieutenant Thomas had overheard enough when Maybourne and Simmons argued a little too loudly and realized the rumors held a grain of truth, otherwise Maybourne would not have been so eager to get hold of this McKay.

As the man was taken away towards the holding cell, Thomas studied him, wondering if this was the sign he had been waiting for to regain control of the ship from NID. When Maybourne first boarded shortly after the storm, the destroyer's crew had numbered 23 officers and 300 men. On that first day, Maybourne disposed of the captain and a few other malcontents in front of the full ship's complement, ordering Simmons to shoot them three times with some fancy alien gun, just to make a point--one stun, two kill, three vaporize. The crew had accepted that Maybourne and his eighteen NID agents were in charge after that.

The crew numbers had dwindled since then, some dying of disease and some killed in action as they attacked a series of nameless and defenseless atolls over the years, subjugating the people to Maybourne's delusion of becoming the self-proclaimed King of Earth. The number on board ship had not diminished though as survivors replaced the lost crew, mostly women and children because Maybourne had insisted that they had to save them to keep the human race going. The fact that at least one child born on the ship, and probably more, carried Maybourne's genes was just Maybourne exercising his prerogative to save the human race all by himself.

With Maybourne's men guarding all the key areas of the ship, overpowering them seemed impossible, though that did not stop fifteen of the crew, led by the Chief Petty Officer, from trying to do so during the early days. Simmons had summarily executed them one by one, and no one had tried anything since.

With each passing year, any opportunities diminished further as more innocent civilians were brought on board to serve Maybourne. Some of those were hostages to ensure the atolls provided food and fresh water on demand.

It was wrong, he thought. The destroyer's role had been to protect people, not become a modern-day pirate ship, bringing terror to the high seas.

He followed the prisoner detail down to the holding cell, waiting for the guards to leave before peering through the slot in the door, seeing only the man's back as he curled up on the small cot, facing away from the door. Thomas wasn't sure what Maybourne would do if they found dry land. He thought of all the possible places like the Alps or the Himalayas, imagining the tips of Everest and K2 peeking out above the waves like tropical islands, but they'd found nothing when they reached either of those coordinates in the past so unless the water was receding he could not believe they'd be land anywhere on the planet. A few days back, he'd overheard Maybourne talking of a Cheyenne Mountain. All he knew was that this mountain was barely a day's sail to what was still referred to as the west, and that they were heading towards it.

When night fell, they came across a drifter's boat, empty. A few weeks back, this would have been unusual but they'd passed atolls recently that had been abandoned, with whole communities of twenty or thirty men, women and children missing. They'd found an increasing number of drifters' boats empty with anything small and of value missing along with their former owners, and this boat seemed no different until Thomas's flashlight fell upon a few old photographs taken from before the storm. He snatched them up quickly, hiding them from view before the accompanying NID agents spotted them and questioned their presence. No one left portable pieces of their history behind, especially not photos of loved ones, unless they were dead or in hiding. As there was no corpse rotting inside the boat, it was likely that the owner was still around here somewhere, perhaps trying to avoid a confrontation with Maybourne and his NID agents. He just hoped the man had a safe place until Maybourne ordered them on their way.

Four hours later, having reluctantly sunk the boat on Maybourne's command and thereby condemned the drifter to a watery grave, Thomas retired to his small cabin only to be disturbed a few minutes later. He opened the door, expecting it to be one of the NID agents summoning him to Maybourne's presence, only to find Seaman Jakesman standing outside his door.

"Sir, we have a small problem in the port engine compartment."

Thomas frowned because he wasn't responsible for the state of the engines, only for the continued obedience of the crew. He nodded anyway and followed Jakesman. As he stepped through the final bulkhead door, Thomas froze when he saw two men seated on the ground in the center of a small circle of his crew.

"Who are you?"

"Now that's a good question," the younger one answered. "Who are you?"

The man's tone had the hardness of an order and Thomas found himself complying. "Lieutenant Thomas, currently the ranking officer of the crew of the _Wilbur Curtis_."

"Lieutenant?" The older man seemed to sneer but Thomas recognized that he was not being held in contempt. "And the captain?"

"Dead." Thomas wasn't certain why he was answering the man's questions, except they both seemed to have a military air about them that demanded respect. He drew the line at calling him _sir_ despite the urge.

"Well, Lieutenant, we're going to need your help recovering one of our people," the younger of the two stated and Thomas straightened in surprise at the audacity of the man in assuming he was here to help them rather than interrogate.

"No offense but what makes you so sure I'm going to help you?"

A soft smile lifted the corner of the silver-haired man's lips. "Because otherwise you'd have taken us straight to Maybourne."

"Dry land," Thomas stated in response, ignoring the startled looks on his crews' faces. "Rumor has it that his tattoo is a map to dry land."

The older man's lips twisted, voice hard. "It is, sort of, but not for Maybourne."

Thomas nodded and directed his next question back at the older man. "What about the rest of us? There are women and children on board. A lot of the original crew too."

"I can't promise anything, only that you'd have a better chance without Maybourne and Simmons...if you help us."

Thomas sighed. "Maybourne has him locked in a holding cell."

"Is he okay?" The tone was indifferent but the hazel eyes gave away how desperate the dark-haired man was to learn of McKay's condition. Thomas could see no reason to lie.

"I didn't see any marks on him but he seemed...subdued, kind of resigned to his fate."

Both men grimaced.

"He thinks I'm dead."

****

John had not known quite what to expect when they boarded the destroyer but this was certainly not it. They had managed to avoid anyone for the first few hours, waiting until the ship had settled down for the night before moving around. He had anticipated a large military presence, but most of the people scattered in nooks and crannies about the ship were civilians wrapped in tattered rags and blankets to keep out the night chill in a ship that offered little in the way of heating for them. Small children watched his and Jack's progress through rounded, curious eyes, and yet none of them made any noise. It was unnatural. Kids were supposed to be noisy. Their mothers seemed to have no energy to concern themselves with the affairs of others, almost ignoring them as they walked by purposefully, trying to make it seem like they belonged.

John should have known it would not last but there was simply no way to travel through some parts of the ship covertly. They'd had to take a chance, and it failed.

Or had it?

The uniforms were frayed and tattered, denoting US Navy, but none of the men had raised the alarm. No one had marched them through the ship at gun point to Maybourne. Instead, the small group circled them in the maintenance room below deck and waited until a young officer appeared, a lieutenant if John's memory of Navy ranks was correct though he'd never paid a whole lot of attention beyond the Air Force and army, not ever having had much to do with the Navy.

Now they were slipping through the ship with greater ease, accompanied by a single sailor while the Lieutenant and the original crew smoothed the path by distracting any NID agents or others loyal to Maybourne. John took a moment to pull open the slot and check on the holding cell's sole occupant, heart thumping in his chest as he saw the now so-familiar form with only the curve of an ear visible from this angle.

"Rodney?" He whispered urgently, another wave of relief passing through him when Rodney tensed and turned over, wide eyes seeking the owner of the disembodied voice. Those eyes found him, locked on tight and John could read the joy in them even from the wrong side of the door. He waited impatiently as the sailor jostled the keys, trying to find the one that fit the lock. A small triumphant sound accompanied the grating sound of a key turning and then the door was open and Rodney was standing before him, eyes still find with mingled joy and disbelief.

"You came for me." He frowned, eyes narrowing. "Don't get me wrong because I'm really glad that you're here and you're alive but...why aren't you dead?"

"Good to see you too, Rodney," John teased back, wishing he could take one more step closer and wrap his arms around Rodney. He wanted to feel the strong body pressed against his, to feel Rodney's heartbeat against his lips as he nuzzled his pale throat.

"Jack?"

John turned quickly at the sound of Jack's name being called from the corridor beyond, shoulder's squaring in readiness when he heard Jack reply in kind.

"Harry."

Keeping Rodney tucked in behind him, John stepped out of the holding cell, hopefully placing himself between Rodney and any danger. He noticed Jack had squared off against a shorter man standing at the end of the corridor. Several men stood between the two, moving forward slowly, all holding strange weapons pointed at Jack. Likely the ZAT guns that Thomas had described earlier. Noise from behind made him glance over his and Rodney's shoulder, and he forced Rodney against the wall as more of Maybourne's men approached from behind.

An unfamiliar, almost metallic sound echoed in the corridor three times in succession, and John witnessed the sailor's body crumple and then disappear as if he had never existed, leaving just him, Jack and Rodney caught between Maybourne's men.

"I was wondering if that fishing boat was yours, Jack." Maybourne gave a sad smile that did not reach his beady eyes. "Was a shame to send a good boat to the bottom but, well, I couldn't let you escape. Not with my prize catch."

John cursed softly under his breath because that boat was all they had...unless... A plan formed quickly as he took in the position of the two men behind them.

If I can get them close enough, he thought, and stared across at Jack, catching the man's eyes and wishing he had the ability to say more than just _trust me_ with a look. John began to lower his handgun and his head, trying for resignation and defeat. The two men bought into the act, swaggering up carelessly and with a quick flick of his wrist, he grabbed the closest one and flung him between him and Jack, seeing him take down one of Maybourne's goons and block the firing angle of the other. Jack moved as swiftly, catching the only other agent between them and possible escape, with John yelling at Rodney to move and dragging him down the corridor. Shots ricocheted off the walls as they made the corner. He could make out Maybourne's angry shouts, could hear the pounding of feet on metal as the NID agents regained their feet and stumbled after them.

John could see the strain on Jack's face as they raced up the narrow stairs, already aware that the man favored his right knee. Rodney was out of breath too, unused to the strenuous activity but John pushed both of them on. He fired back as one NID agent rounded the corner behind them, noting the man duck back with mild satisfaction as he carried on up the stairs. John knew they were at a disadvantage because they didn't know the ship as well as Maybourne's people, and heard two shots fired ahead as Jack took down another NID agent. They slammed around another corner and stopped for a moment to catch their breath. Jack stared hard at him.

"I hope to God you have a plan."

"Yeah, I do." He pushed on ahead of Jack, angling through the corridors until they reached the main aft deck. Ahead sat the two Sea Hawk helicopters.

"You think... you can fly one?" Rodney asked between gasps for breath.

John gave him a cocky grin in response. "I know I can!"

Jack took out the sole guard and they clambered on board, with John flipping switches to start the engine before he had even finished dropping into the pilot's seat. He had thrust the gun into Rodney's hands, and ordered him to cover them while he got the chopper in the air, surprised when Rodney turned out to be a pretty good shot. He took off fast, ignoring most of the pre-flight checks, and banking hard to get them away from the destroyer as quickly as possible, wanting to put as much space between them as he could as bullets pinged against the fuselage, and against the cockpit window. He could hear a soft, shocked yet relieved litany of, "Oh god," coming from Rodney and smiled as he had not taken him for the religious type, quite the opposite, but just hearing his soft voice sounding so much like his cries when they made love, filled John with so much pleasure.

The tone changed abruptly from relief to fear at the same time a high pitched beep sounded in front of him. He swore and banked, twisting this way and that as he tried to shake the second helicopter, unable to hear the strafing from its guns but seeing the trace of bullets. If they hit the rotor then he'd have to ditch in the sea, and John had no intention of making it easy for Maybourne to get hold of Rodney again. He started climbing, aiming straight up, fully aware of what this helicopter could handle, only for Rodney to start shouting in greater fear.

"Take her down! Take her down! The Ori!"

Tension radiated off Rodney, sweat beading from every visible pore as he eyed the sky above them in paranoia, so John arced back down towards the sea, using the momentum to fly past the other Sea Hawk. He dodged and weaved, banking first one way then another, feigning to the left and going right, climbing and diving while the other pilot followed, taking shots whenever it could.

"It's Maybourne and Simmons!" Jack exclaimed.

With nothing but blue sky above and blue sea below, he didn't have a whole load of options, but something had scared Rodney when the helicopter climbed straight up.

"Ori?"

Jack was in the co-pilot seat, Rodney hanging on desperately between them. "Ori satellites in orbit."

It gave John a dangerous idea. He knew where the safety threshold lay. All he had to do was climb again with the other helicopter dead on his tail. Rodney was yelling again, fingers scrabbling for purchase as they went almost vertical. Bullet traces flashed past the cockpit to one side but still John climbed. He reached the safety threshold and pushed on just a little more, a little more...a little...and then plummeted as an orange beam shot out of the high heavens, somehow placing the other helicopter between them and the beam. He had only moments to slow their descent and angle the helicopter before the explosion caught the Sea Hawk, alarms screeching as the engine cut out while pieces of Maybourne's destroyed helicopter sliced through his own rotor and the fuselage. John threw himself sideways over Rodney as the sea came up too fast.

***

Rodney moaned as he pushed at John's deadweight pinning him down. He opened his eyes to see someone moving in the back of the helicopter, frantically tearing beneath the seats until he found what he was looking for. The side door was open and the man activated the life raft, the garish yellow boat inflating instantly. He tied it off and came to Rodney's side, tugging at John until Rodney could squirm free.

"You okay?"

Rodney blinked up at the man, recognizing him from the atoll: Jack. How long ago was that? It seemed like a life time but he knew it was just days.

"Help me get him in the raft because this chopper is not going to float much longer."

"Oh. Yes." Rodney grabbed John's legs and staggered after Jack, carrying John's limp body between them. It took a little maneuvering but once all three of them were in the boat, Jack cut it loose. He grabbed a paddle, throwing it at Rodney while grabbing a second paddle for himself.

"Row!"

He'd rowed before, weeks ago, and worked as hard as he could as they moved away from the helicopter, only stopping when Jack put down his paddle and stared back across the sea. Rodney turned too, watching in dismay as the helicopter slipped silently beneath the waves, leaving them adrift in a vast, endless sea. Rodney laughed, feeling the hysteria creeping through him but he sobered at the look on Jack's face.

"This is where I came in." A warm hand dropped onto his shoulder, squeezing gently in reassurance. "Least I'm not alone this time," he murmured.

Jack gave him a quelling look that softened almost immediately and, together, they moved over to John, with Jack saying nothing when Rodney picked up John's head and laid it gently in his lap, fingers stroking through the damp strands, caressing the tip of a slightly pointed ear. He found a small lump beneath the hairline and hoped it wasn't serious because they had no way of treating a head injury beyond a bandage and couple of painkillers, if the medical kit was as good as the one from the... He squeezed his eyes shut, seeing a vision of something long and cylindrical, controls lighting up blue beneath his fingers.

Gateship.

****

 **Atlantis:**

The siren sounded and Chuck tapped his radio. "Incoming wormhole." The shield snapped into place as the last chevron encoded. "I have Major Lorne's IDC."

Elizabeth stepped up behind Chuck, with Caldwell at her shoulder. "Major Lorne, we were starting to worry about you."

"Dr. Weir. Permission to send the first group of refugees through."

She felt taken aback by the urgency of his words. "Permission granted. Lower the shield."

Elizabeth stepped to the railing overlooking the gate room as a gateship slip through and immediately rose towards the hangar, only then noticing the stream of people following behind.

"Ma'am, I'd suggest you get them cleared from the debarkation zone as fast as they come through. We have a lot of refugees."

Caldwell was already on his radio, barking orders at his men in the gate room.

"How many?" Elizabeth asked.

"We have the QE2 and the _USS Wilbur Curtis_ anchored above Cheyenne Mountain."

Elizabeth stumbled back a few steps, unable to look away from the stream of men, women and children. She could see Teyla catching hold of individuals and leading them away while Bates yelled constantly to his men to keep everyone moving away from the gate as more and more people came through.

"Major? How many does the QE2 hold?" She had to ask, terrified and joyous in equal measure because every indication had been that there would be few, if any, survivors.

"At the last count...three thousand, two hundred and fifty-three, plus another four hundred and seventy-two on the _Wilbur Curtis_.

"Oh my!"

She leaned forward, still mesmerized by the flow of humanity while equally appalled by their ragged and almost skeletal figures. These people had survived almost three years in hostile conditions, with no land beneath their feet, little food and no easily obtainable drinking water. Those that were not in shock looked both frightened and awed, the children huddled to their mothers, some openly crying as they were assisted by Atlanteans. Elizabeth swallowed hard, suddenly aware that she had a logistical nightmare on her hands and she cleared her throat, only to choke up when more Atlanteans appeared from the labs, and off-duty soldiers rushed into the gate room, everyone pulling together to help where they could.

"I guess Rodney has a plan," she stated, only to be met by silence. "Major?"

"Dr. Weir, I'm sorry to report that Dr. McKay's gateship was shot down several weeks ago by an Ori satellite while out searching for survivors. There wasn't time to triangulate his position." Silence again. "I'm sorry, Ma'am."

All the joy fled from her and she sat down heavily, closing her eyes and taking a moment to gather her thoughts. She admonished herself, telling her she would have time to grieve later, and rolled back her shoulders.

"Understood, Major. Perhaps Doctor Kavanagh then."

She listened carefully, trying not to allow her thoughts to slip away with thoughts of Rodney. They had been through so much together since stepping through the wormhole into Atlantis. They had survived wraith attacks and Genii incursions into the city and had comforted each other through their losses and rejoiced together in their triumphs. She could not imagine the city without Rodney's larger-than-life presence. She could not imagine the labs not resounding with his scathing comments on the competence of his staff, and their eagerness to please the irascible scientist. She could not imagine not having her friend to talk to in the small hours of the night when her personal demons had a tighter grip upon her soul.

They were never lovers and, tempting though it might have been in the early days of the Expedition, their relationship had fallen into an almost sibling companionship. She had missed him over these past weeks and the thought of never seeing him again tore at her heart.

Fifteen hours later, Elizabeth slumped into her seat, smiling weakly as Caldwell took a seat opposite and placed a mug of Athosian tea in front of her. She needed this small respite before meeting with Doctor Kavanagh and Major Lorne. Both men had looked exhausted after weeks on Earth and, despite their infamous arguments, she could tell Kavanagh was deeply affected by Rodney's loss. She knew Steven was not so pleased with the decision to leave a gateship behind on the off chance that Rodney was still alive and might make it back somehow but, of all of them, Rodney deserved that chance. He had kept Atlantis running by the sheer force of his personality during some of their darker days.

Standing up, she wrapped her hands around her mug of tea and moved to the window overlooking the gate room, barely believing it had been teeming with people less than an hour before. Makeshift dormitories housed the vast majority of refugees while Beckett's department was still flooded with the more seriously sick and injured. One thing they had not catered for was the amount of nausea experienced by the rescued people while they regained their _land legs_. Teyla had organized a special Athosian tea to quell some of the nausea, leaving their dwindling supply of drugs for those in desperate need.

"We need to--"

"Tomorrow." Steven stopped beside her. "Let's give these people time to settle in and then, tomorrow, we'll figure out what to do with them all."

She nodded, for once not at odds with his well intentioned but often misguided advice. Tomorrow would come soon enough but she wondered if it would feel just as empty as today without Rodney's abrasive but welcome presence at her side.

****

Lieutenant Thomas stood to attention as the highest ranking officer on Atlantis entered the conference room, followed by an elegant and poised woman with dark hair. He was a little startled when she took immediate control of the meeting.

"Be seated, gentlemen." She waited patiently as they all took seats around the table. "I'm Doctor Weir, leader of the Atlantis Expedition...and of this new colony. I realize it sounds a little like returning to high school but let's have a round of introductions."

Each person took it in turn, stating their name and a few important facts concerning their position, and Thomas felt out of place among the high ranks of military and civilians alike. When it reached his turn, he heard his voice tremor slightly but no one took him to task over it. Instead, they seemed supportive and he found himself starting to relax. He listened as the captain of the QE2 outlined how the luxury liner had escaped the Ori destruction, and how they had survived the three years by becoming a floating colony. A representative of the atolls spoke out next and, all too soon, everyone looked to him.

"Lieutenant?"

It was harder than he thought to talk about the initial attack and the years that followed under NID control; of how they had been given no choice by Maybourne and his agents, of the executions and attacks meant to subjugate the survivors so Maybourne could increase his _kingdom_.

"Maybourne became even more aggressive when one of his agents sent a photo image of the man with the tattoo."

"Tattoo?" The man who'd introduced himself as Dr. Daniel Jackson leaned forward. He looked towards Doctor Weir meaningfully before rolling up his t-shirt sleeve. "A tattoo like this?"

Thomas looked at the horse with its flowing main and wings. "Yes, sir. Exactly like that."

"Rodney." Dr. Weir looked both joyous at his words and Thomas could understand her feelings if this was one of her people.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. I never knew his name."

"When did you last see him?" She demanded.

"On board the _Wilbur Curtis_ two days ago."

She sat up straighter. "Is he...?" She looked to Major Lorne, who was already rising from his seat.

"Ma'am. He wasn't on the _Wilbur Curtis_ when we reached Cheyenne Mountain."

"What happened?" Lorne asked.

"Two men boarded the ship, determined to rescue him. I gave them as much assistance as I could. They managed to escape in a Sea Hawk but Maybourne and Simmons took off after them in the second helicopter." He turned to Dr. Weir. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but neither returned."

She sank back into her seat, eyes full of grief momentarily before she visibly pulled herself together. "What happened next, Lieutenant?"

"I-I took advantage of the situation to carry on to Cheyenne Mountain," his eyes flicked towards the captain of the luxury liner, "Where we met up with the QE2 and Major Lorne."

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

Colonel Caldwell leaned forward. "Who were the two men?"

"They never gave their names, sir, but I got the impression they were military, possibly SEALs or special ops trained...and at least one of them knew how to fly a helicopter or they would have never got it off the deck."

Caldwell nodded, and Thomas felt as if he was the bearer of sad news.

"You did the right thing, Lieutenant. You brought your people home."

Thomas straightened as Caldwell held his gaze. "Thank you, sir...and, for what it's worth, I am truly sorry, sir."

****

Having two sailors on board the life raft made this time far less of an ordeal. The canopy had been turned into a makeshift sail and they were making good progress towards the coordinates for Cheyenne Mountain.

Rodney glanced across at John, gaining a soft smile that made Jack raise his eyebrows and roll his eyes fractionally but, other than the teasing, Jack seemed to have no problem with Rodney's relationship with John.

They had talked a lot over the past few days, with Jack explaining what had brought the world to an end, bringing John up to speed on the Stargate program and hoping to jog Rodney's memory. He was starting to recall far more of his life before waking up in a life raft several weeks earlier, remembering Griffin's calm voice calling ' _Mayday_ ' as he tried to control the crash into the ocean.

Griffin was dead. Rodney knew that the pilot had not stood a chance. They had already sunk too deep and Rodney was in no fit condition to breathe for him, like he had with John. Instead, Griffin had done everything in his power to ensure that Rodney would make it to the surface, and that a life raft would be within reach. Rodney could not recall reaching the surface nor could he recall getting into the life raft and he doubted he would ever regain that memory.

"We're here." John stared at the compass and the chart, aware that they were relying heavily on Rodney's mathematical genius to ensure they were exactly where they hoped to be. Rodney had noticed that John was no slouch with the mental math either and Jack had a strong enough grasp too despite their attempts to hide their abilities.

"I suppose now's as good a time as any," Rodney stated shakily, eying the water before taking off the top layers of his clothing, leaving himself clad only in a ragged t-shirt and boxers.

Although Rodney still had no clear memory of the SGC, Jack had described it to him in detail and he knew his best bet was to descend within the silo rather than risk getting trapped or lost within elevator shafts and stairwells. He took several deep breaths even though he knew he would not need them. John had offered to swim down partway with him, and though he would have been grateful for the company, Rodney could not risk John going too far and ending up sick or worse. Instead, he took the small spear gun, silently hoping he would not need to use it against any sharks. He took another deep breath. He had never tried to swim so deep before and his greatest fear was that he'd be forced to admit failure and return to the surface long before he reached sublevel 28 where the Stargate sat at the bottom of the silo.

"Cold, cold, cold," he yelped as he slipped into the water, gaining a tolerant grin from both men. "I guess I'd better..." he indicated down, stopping when John grabbed his arm, leaned over and kissed him deeply. No words were said but the meaning in John's eyes was clear, full of love, desire and asking for a silent promise to come back.

Swallowing hard, Rodney stammered something inane and then slipped beneath the surface before he said anything truly embarrassing. He kicked quickly, grateful for the small weights that helped him descend a little faster. The silo was cold and dark, with the small blue light sticks doing little to dispel the unease. Strange shapes moved within the darkness, flicking in and out of the light created by the slowly falling blue sticks but nothing large enough to cause him great fear, just enough to increase his feeling of paranoia and claustrophobia.

Gradually, he noticed a soft glow far below him and swam towards it, forgetting his fear of the dark silo as his curiosity rose. The shape racing out of the darkness caught his eye almost at the last moment, and he twisted as serrated jaws snapped closed on cold water instead of warm flesh. Panicking, he almost dropped the spear gun but brought the weapon to bear as the shark came in for a second attack. His finger trembled on the trigger and the shark jack-knifed sideways as the spear penetrated its head just beneath one lifeless-looking eye.

Not waiting to see what happened next, Rodney kicked out hard, aiming for the strange glow. He almost missed the dark opening in the side of the silo; only the blue from the light stick dancing off a strange metal alloy caught his attention. He could make out the basic shape...long and cylindrical, and felt his stomach flip over as a memory formed an image in his mind.

It was a gateship. He swam over and touched the surface with strange reverence before gently pulling himself along its length to the back. His surface memories might have fled him but some part of him seemed to know what to do, and where to press. Blue light glowed through the alien seams around the palm lock and the back slowly dropped. Quickly pulling himself inside, he touched another control and the back rose quickly, sealing him inside. He felt a moment of panic but various lights flickered on and he felt the increased gravity as the water began to drain away, leaving him shivering inside. He wished it was warmer and blinked rapidly as the temperature began to rise accordingly.

Rodney made his way forward, unconsciously knowing what to touch to bring the bulkhead door open. The cockpit area was large and dry, and Rodney sank into the left hand seat, instinctively placing his hands on the controls. They powered up with a strangely familiar blue light and sound, a holographic display forming on the screen before him that Rodney understood on some subliminal level. He fought of moving, of going up and moments later he was shooting up the silo at frightening speed.

"Slow! Slow! Slow!" he cried out in alarm and it obeyed, moving slowly to the surface.

Rodney blinked in surprise when he saw the life raft only a few feet ahead, staring at John and Jack through the front screen while they stared back in a mixture of awe and jubilation. Quickly, he closed the bulkhead door and opened the back, waiting for Jack and John to scramble inside before re-pressurizing the gateship. As the bulkhead opened for a second time, Rodney scrambled out of the pilot's seat and reached for John, holding him tight.

John held him tight, pulling Rodney's head down onto his shoulder. "You okay?" He waited for Rodney's nod and then tilted his head back, kissing him soundly.

Jack slipped into the pilot's seat, much to Rodney's relief, because the man could at least recall having flown one of these before.

"There's something down there. A glow, possibly a force field. I think the gateship can penetrate it."

"Gateship?" John murmured. "Couldn't they think of a better name?"

"It's a ship that goes through the gate. Gate. Ship." Rodney grinned. "I named it." The grin faltered. "I think."

John stared at him for half a beat. "Well, in that case, you're not allowed to name anything else," he teased, gaining agreement from Jack.

"Okay, kids. Let's go check out the pretty lights." Jack grinned and, with an ease that Rodney lacked, he piloted the gateship beneath the waves while John sank into the co-pilot's seat, unable resist being close to the controls. The control panel lit up beneath his hands.

"You have the gene!"

John looked over his shoulder at Rodney's exclamation, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Cool!"

Jack angled the gateship down the silo and, just as Rodney predicted, it passed through the glowing shield with barely any buffering, moving from one medium to another smoothly as it passed from water to air. Jack landed the gateship on the gate room floor, just in front of a ramp leading up to a huge alien ring.

"The Stargate," he exclaimed. More memories flooded through Rodney as he recalled walking up this very ramp and stepping into the unknown with no guarantee of ever finding a way home, except he did not feel any sense of _home_ on this world that birthed him. Home was in another galaxy, and he wanted to take John there.

Jack lowered the back and Rodney made his way through vaguely familiar corridors to the control room. He read screens of data with practiced ease considering he ought to have no idea what the data meant. There was a note taped to the main control panel. He read it aloud.

"72 seconds. Use gateship DHD," screwing up his nose in irritation. "Well, of course we'll have to use the..." He grimaced because he wasn't certain how he knew that dialing with the gateship's DHD was safer than using the one cobbled together by... He couldn't bring her name to mind, only an image of a beautiful, smart blond with blue eyes.

"72 seconds." He murmured and checked the power levels, finally understanding the relevance of the message. Once they dialed the Stargate, they would have only 72 seconds to get through before the power failed. Finding nothing more of any use, they re-entered the gateship and Rodney chewed on the knuckles of one hand nervously as Jack sat into the pilot's seat. "72 seconds should be enough time so long as we can convince them to lower the shield."

"But we'll only get the one shot at it," John added wryly.

"Except we don't know the gate address for Atlantis," Jack stated almost bitterly and Rodney had to admit that it might have been bright of someone to leave that hanging around, say, here in the gateship. "But there's a planet on the outer edge of the galaxy, closest gate to Pegasus. It was deserted so we shouldn't have any problems with the Ori."

"And once we're off this world, we can use this gate system to move around until we find a way to contact Atlantis," John added.

Jack gave a tight smile of agreement.

*

John frowned as he watched Jack punch in the first symbol of the address, then the second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth... He grabbed Jack's wrist as he reached for the seventh, gaining a confused look.

"Wait! This gate address to Atlantis? If the local galaxy has seven symbols then I take it another galaxy has eight?"

Jack nodded but John was already staring at Rodney. His eyes dropped to Rodney's arm where the frayed t-shirt covered most of the tattoo that he had traced with fingers and tongue only a few days earlier.

"It's a long shot but..." Rodney gave a startled yelp as John grabbed his arm and pulled up the short sleeve, exposing the Pegasus with its flying mane and wings. "Left to right or right to left?"

Jack leaned in and studied the tattoo, tracing along the almost invisible line of eight symbols. He pointed to the one on the far right, an upside down V with a small circle at the apex. "This is the symbol for Earth...the point of origin. The last symbol dialed from Earth."

John grinned and resolutely punched in the symbols starting at the opposite end from the origin. The Stargate spun with every symbol, locking down, and as the last chevron encoded, a violent wave erupted from the center of the circle only to dissipate just as quickly leaving a circle of blue water rippling in the hole. Above them, the shield started to collapse as all the ZPM's energy was directed into the Stargate.

Acutely aware of the 72 seconds, Jack grabbed the radio. "Atlantis, this is Brigadier General Jack O'Neill requesting permission to come through. I'm bringing home a lost lamb."

Vital seconds passed until a woman's voice answered, voice trembling in shock. "General O'Neill! This is Dr. Elizabeth Weir." He could hear her as she gave orders to her people to lower shield. "Permission granted...and welcome to Atlantis!"

John looked up as a torrent of water hit the roof, aware that they were almost out of time for the bulkheads would only hold for a few more seconds and then the power grid on level 25 would be flooded, rendering what little ZPM power remaining useless. The gateship leaped forward through the Stargate, a torrent of water flowing with them. The inertial dampeners kicked in as the automated systems brought them to a sudden halt in the Atlantis gate room. John could see soldiers swept off their feet by the flood, water running down the shorter stairwells to each side of the gate room and into the corridors beyond until someone palmed shut the doors. Jack settled the gateship on the gate room floor and opened the back, and John watched as half a dozen soldiers and civilians raced through ankle deep water towards them as he, Jack and Rodney staggered out. A dark haired woman stopped in front of Rodney.

"Elizabeth?" Rodney's eyes were wide and incredibly blue as he studied her face.

She took another step forward and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly before pulling back, her face lined with emotion barely contained. "We thought we'd lost you." She cleared her throat and turned, holding out her hand. "General O'Neill." Her eyes turned to John. "And?"

John opened his mouth to answer but Jack beat him. "This is Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard. He likes to fly."

John stared at him, startled, because Jack knew he had been demoted to Major before being kicked out of the USAF.

"Colonel Sheppard. I... Thank you for bringing Rodney home." She thrust out her hand, her smile wide and filled with gratitude. "Welcome to Atlantis."

John reached back and was then distracted when Jack stepped forward suddenly, eyes bright and a smile fighting to break out on his face as they looked beyond the ever-growing gathering of scientists and soldiers.

"Daniel?"

"Jack?"

Moments later the two were hugging and John thought Jack's eyes looked a little too bright and watery as he murmured something that sounded suspiciously like _spacemonkey_. John turned to share a look with Rodney but Rodney was surrounded by happy people touching him and some kissing him while Rodney was frozen in confusion. A wiry, wild-haired man wearing glasses pushed through the crowd, muttering in a foreign language, and he grabbed Rodney's hand in both of his own, shaking it hard.

"You do not do this to me again! Ever! Who will remonstrate with Kavanagh if you are no longer here?"

"Kavanagh," Rodney murmured, and then his eyes widened like a startled deer. "I remember!" he stared through the crowd and stopped on one particular man, pushing his way forward until he was standing in front of the pony-tailed civilian. "You forgot to factor in the energy required for the dialing sequence on the old analogue style gate."

The man started opening and shutting his mouth like a fish, face reddening as he worked himself up to a rant but Rodney forestalled it by grabbing the man and hugging him tightly before letting go and stepping back.

"Thank you for the..." He twisted his hand, "Gateship and the vital extra seconds."

"You're..." Kavanagh cleared his throat. "You're welcome."

Another man pushed through the crowd, fussing madly in a Scottish accent and John recognized the appraising look of a medical doctor, suddenly feeling a little dazed and alone as the man hustled Rodney away. His last sight was of Rodney glancing back over his shoulder as he was marched through the door, searching the crowd until his eyes caught John's for just a split second, and then he was gone.

"Steven!" Jack grabbed the hand of Colonel Caldwell. "So I guess the _Daedalus_ made it."

"Yes, she did, though we had our doubts on a few occasions."

John zoned out after that. He felt sick to the stomach, the solid ground strange beneath his feet after so many years at sea. People were asking him too many questions at once, the words buzzing through his head in sharp contrast to the long-familiar sound of quiet waves lapping against the side of his boat, and all he could feel was his stomach roiling.

"I'm not feeling so great." He turned to Jack, noticing that he looked a little pale too.

"Land sickness." Caldwell stated. "Let's get you and General O'Neill to the infirmary."

****

A few days later, Rodney stepped out onto the balcony by the control room and stared out across the water, recalling the lonely sea stretching out in every direction on another world that had once teemed with human life. Nearly seven billion people were lost but Rodney had seen the list of those saved on the main computer, leading to his own joyous reunion with Jeanie. He'd never believed in fate or coincidence before but Kaleb's parents had celebrated their ruby wedding anniversary in style on board the QE2, inviting their only family along on the cruise to celebrate with them. The older Millers had perished over the three harsh years but Jeanie, Kaleb and Madison had survived.

In total, over four thousand people had been saved, coming from every corner of the globe and from every walk of life. They had doctors and architects, accountants and fishermen, teachers and students, Merchant Navy and US Navy officers and men holding a variety of useful skills. They had ordinary people, women and children, and one or two who claimed to have been celebrities in their past life, though that was meaningless now.

Most were settling into the city, finding useful occupations or learning new skills. Others found it too hard living in a city with so many people and the walls surrounding them, and the Athosians had welcomed those few onto the mainland with open arms.

Elizabeth leaned on the balcony rail next to him and he glanced towards her, still amazed and awed by what they had accomplished.

"We did it!" He frowned. "Well, technically, Kavanagh did most of it."

"He didn't do it alone, Rodney." She placed her hand over his and smiled.

"Yes, well, without my calculations and knowledge of both the Ancient technology and the SGC..."

She squeezed his hand. "It's good to have you back." She looked over her shoulder as the door opened. "But I'm going to go back inside now."

Rodney barely noticed Elizabeth greeting John with a slight nod of her head as she passed him. Since his return, Rodney had been kept busy from morning till night, trying to organize the influx of new people, and he'd missed John every moment of it. He stared at him now, desperately hoping John could not see the desperate longing in his eyes because he no longer knew where they stood. Regaining his memory had not stopped him from wanting to be with John in every possible way. He missed the security of John's arms around him, missed the feel of John moving inside him, filling him, loving him with hands and lips and with every slide of flesh on flesh. He missed the quiet moments afterwards when they would look up at the night sky and tell stories about the constellations they could see, or the times they cleaned off in the cold ocean, swimming and laughing, sharing life-giving kisses.

When he allowed his eyes to meet John's, he almost gasped at the intensity of longing reflecting back at him.

"I'm not going to rejoin the military."

Rodney frowned. "Why?"

"Because if I'm military then I can't have you." Rodney remained silent, stunned by the admission. "And I want you more than I want a silver cluster."

"A silver...?"

John smiled and stepped closer, hand cupping Rodney's cheek. He leaned in and kissed Rodney sweetly before drawing back. Rodney pulled him back, pressing his lips against John's, more demanding, desperate for the missed contact, little needy sounds escaping from him as they kissed. He wove his hands through John's already messy hair, kissing him frantically, unable to get enough of John's taste. The sound of the door opening made him jump back, aware that his face was flushed with desire; a mirror to John's.

Daniel stood on the threshold of the balcony, grinning at him while Jack looked almost as embarrassed as John. Rodney watched as John straightened almost to attention as he faced Jack.

"General, I guess this is as good a time as any to let you know my decision."

Jack interrupted. "There's no DADT in the Atlantean military, Colonel. If that's what's bothering you."

John stared at him hard, eyes slightly narrowed. "There isn't?"

Jack waved a hand. "Multi-national expedition. If DADT couldn't apply to all then it applied to none. I hear the Canadians were particularly vocal about that."

Rodney preened at the idea of his fellow countrymen solving John's problems with the military.

"Sir, I'm not a Lieutenant Colonel."

"Call it a field promotion. Now, tomorrow I want to go over the new military structure. It appears Colonel Caldwell would rather take command of the _Daedalus_ than help run a city so it looks like you, me and the also newly promoted Lieutenant Colonel Lorne will be running the military side of things down here." Jack gave a small smile. "We'll divide up the duties later."

"Yes, sir!"

"Now, you and Dr. McKay were...otherwise engaged when we stepped out here so," He pointed over his shoulder, "Daniel and I will go find another balcony overlooking the sea."

"Actually, sir. We were just leaving."

"We were?" Rodney looked to John in confusion. John's smoldering look of desire, hidden from Jack and Daniel had Rodney's eyes widening and he swallowed hard. "Yes, yes, we were."

****

Beams from an alien moon passed through the ornamental glass, casting multi-colored patterns across Rodney's back, highlighting the curved tip of one ear and turning his hair to antique gold. John leaned up on one elbow to study the patterns of color, of dark blue and burnt orange, of darkened green. In daylight, these colors would hold a greater vibrancy but now they simply embraced the sleeping man.

Sweat from their lovemaking had already dried upon Rodney's skin, leaving no glint of sparkle, just the smooth expanse of flesh, of broad shoulders tapering down to a slimmer waist and the firm yet perfectly generous curves of his pale ass; a beautiful ass that begged to be touched and licked and kissed and fucked. Rodney's arms were straight by his sides, sleeping like an automaton that had been shut off rather than a rag doll sprawled across the bed. He had not moved since collapsing there in sated pleasure, John's semen still trickling from his well-used ass, glistening against his inner thighs.

The washcloth was somewhere on the floor, discarded after it served John's purpose, and the soft skin had dried in the warmth of the room, leaving no reminder of their coupling beyond the small dark bruises of fingertips on pale hips, of tiny bite marks on the alabaster flesh of Rodney's ass.

His own body felt heavy with repletion, his stomach full for the first time in years, his thirst slaked by pure, sparkling cool water, and his soul cleansed by the love and desire and need and want shining from Rodney's eyes. He had it all. He had a beautiful city that thrummed in every cell of his body; he had rank and purpose but, more importantly, he had Rodney lying safe in his bed, lying next to him, snuffling softly.

In the quiet of the night it was easy to lie here and dwell on the past, on the death and destruction, on seeing people struggling to live from day to day in a hostile world. He knew this new world had its own demons in the form of life-sucking vampires. He knew that resources would thin quickly now there were four thousand extra mouths to feed but he was still filled with something that had been missing since well before the end of the Earth, missing since he watched good friends die on the battlefields of Afghanistan. He had hope now, and Rodney was the one who had first offered hope to him, even before John knew who or what he was. If they had never managed to find a way off of Earth, John would have been happy just having Rodney by his side.

His memory flitted back to that day they played in the blue ocean, feeling the warmth of Rodney's breath filling his lungs as they sank into the colder depths, feeling the press of his cock in the crease of John's leg and torso, hard and urgent, needing him, wanting him. He could still recall the strong fingers clenching into his ass, the press of his own cock against Rodney's belly and the cloud of pale semen that floated away on the current as they came within moments of each other.

Reaching out, John traced the curve of the ear, gently pushing the shell forward to expose the flap of gills hidden behind. Grinning when Rodney snorted and wriggled a little before settling down once more.

Beckett had done this to Rodney. He had manipulated the DNA of some of the ATA gene carriers going on the mission to Earth, wanting to give them the greatest advantage in a world now covered in water. Lorne and several others bore the same genetic alteration but not Griffin; he had turned down the treatment, and drowned. Beckett mentioned that Rodney might never recall the full details of that event, and maybe that was for the best.

John smiled softly, wondering how Rodney would react when he discovered that he had asked Beckett for the treatment. The sea was already in his blood after surviving almost three years alone, drifting from atoll to atoll. It seemed fitting that it should be a physical, cell deep part of him too. Of course, the idea of making out with Rodney beneath the Lantean waves had nothing to do with it, but then he'd only be kidding himself if he truly believed that because everything had to do with Rodney now; his life, his career, his choices...everything.

John slipped from the bed and moved to the balcony, pushing the doors slightly ajar to let in the cooler night breeze.

Another snuffle and Rodney moved, rolling onto his back and pushing up to his elbows, long eyelashes blinking away the sleep as he stared blearily at John.

"Are you...?"

"Ssh... I'm fine, Rodney," John whispered as he moved back to the bed, and he grinned as a huge, jaw-cracking yawn overtook his lover. "Go back to sleep." Gently, John pushed Rodney back down against the pillows.

Rodney reached for him, drawing him down by his side as he mumbled something incoherent, his eyes closing and mouth slackening as he drifted back to sleep. Carefully, John wrapped an arm around Rodney and slipped one leg between his lover's, pressing the whole length of his body against Rodney's sleep-warmed flesh.

He fell asleep to the sound of the waves lapping against the base of the city, and to the soft breaths of his lover and the steady beat of his heart.

THE END


End file.
